by Anna Sewell
CHAPTER II
THE CHASE
When the sudden gust of wind from the open door blew out the light andleft the room in darkness, the great she-bear was not as muchinconvenienced as one might imagine, for the bear is something of aprowler at night, doing much thieving and hunting when the darknessscreens its deeds, as he has a very good pair of night-eyes.
Being thus left in darkness, the great brute stepped gingerly about,taking care not to tread upon the two prostrate forms on the floor,until she came to the cradle. There she stooped and investigated,passing her tongue caressingly over the little sleeper's face. Thenwith her great clumsy paws she drew the blanket in which the baby hadbeen wrapped about the sleeping child, and taking the loose ends in herteeth, swung it clear of the cradle and held it as though in a hammock.
Still standing erect, the bear edged carefully to the doorway, but onceon the piazza, where she felt sure that the way was clear, she droppedon all fours, and started for the woods at a clumsy, shuffling trot.But clumsy as the gait was, it took her over the ground rapidly, andshe was soon far into the forest.
The heartbroken mother, after being brought back to consciousness,could only sit and wring her hands and moan, "O John, John, my baby, mydarling, I shall never see it again."
For a few moments the strong young man sat as though stunned by thesuddenness of the blow. His brawny arms were nerveless; the heart hadgone out of him, leaving him helpless as a little child. But presentlyhis strong manhood asserted itself, and a bright glitter came into hiskeen, gray eyes.
"Mary," he said, almost roughly, "stop taking on so and listen to me.I am going after our child and with God's help I will bring him back."The realization of the hopelessness of it all nearly choked him, but hehad to say something to quiet the look of misery and terror in hiswife's eyes.
"I want you to stay right here until I come back. I am a strong manand a good shot and no harm will come to me. No matter how long I amgone, or how lonely you get, you are not to stir from the house. Doyou hear?"
The young mother looked at him in a dazed manner as though she but halfcomprehended, but at last a look of understanding and eagerness cameinto her eyes.
"I am going too," she said.
The man had foreseen and feared this and had tried to forestall it.
"No," he said, roughly, "you cannot go. Stay right in this room untilI return."
As he spoke he took down an old double-barreled gun, and drawing theshot in one barrel, rammed home a Minie ball that just fitted the bore.This was a rude makeshift for a rifle, but it was the best he could do.
Hastily slipping on his overcoat and cap, and tenderly kissing hiswife, he passed out into the darkness, on his hazardous and almosthopeless mission. But before taking the trail, he went to the shed andaroused an old hound who was sleeping upon a door-mat inside.
"Here, Hecla," he called. "Come along. You may be of some help to meto-night."
Then tying a long piece of rope to the hound's collar, that she mightnot follow too fast, he said, "Here, Hecla, good dog," indicating thebeast's track in the snow. "Sic, Si-c-c-c-c."
As the strong bear scent fumed into the old hound's nostrils, the hairrose upon her neck and she stood uncertain.
"Si-c-c-c-c," repeated the man sternly.
Reluctantly the hound took the trail, the man following close behind.Across the mowing and into the pasture, and straight for the deepwoods, the track led.
The man groaned as he thought of the hopelessness of his task;--tofollow a full-grown bear into the deep woods at night, and recoversafely from its clutches a little child.
This was his only hope, though, so setting his teeth, and rememberingthe pale face of his wife, the terror in her eyes, and his promise tobring their boy back safely, he kept on swiftly and bravely.
Fifteen minutes brought man and dog to the woods, and withouthesitation they plunged into its depths. It was not so easy going hereas it had been in the open. The rope was always getting tangled in theunderbrush, and a stop every few minutes to unloose it had to be made.
Sometimes the man plunged up to his waist in the snow where it lay deepin some hollow. Sometimes it was a dead limb lying across his paththat sent him sprawling. Occasionally the underbrush lashed his faceand tore his skin. But these were little things. Somewhere in theinterminable woods a great brute of a bear was perhaps at this verymoment--he dared not finish the thought, he could only groan.
For half an hour they floundered forward, now slipping and sliding, andnow falling, but always up and on again.
At last, when the man was almost winded, and his breath was coming inquick gasps, a faint, far-off cry floated down to him through theghostly aisles of the naked wind-swept forest. At first it was sofaint as to be almost unintelligible, but as they pressed on, it grewlouder and clearer, until the man recognized the pitiful wailing of ababy.
"Thank God!" he gasped, "my boy is still alive."
By this time the old hound had fairly warmed up to the chase and wastugging on the rope and whining eagerly.
To let the dog go on now might frighten the bear and thus defeat thewhole undertaking, so the man tied her to a sapling, and, bidding herkeep quiet, crept cautiously forward.
A hundred feet farther on, the cries from the child grew louder. Amoment more and he caught sight of the bear leaning up against a largebeech, holding the baby in her strong arms.
To the agonized father's great surprise the bear's attitude lookedalmost maternal; she seemed indeed to be trying in her brute way tosoothe the infant. She caressed its face with her nose, and lapped itwith her long, soft red tongue. If it had been one of her own cubs shecould not have shown more concern.
So much the frantic father noted, while he stood irresolute, uncertainwhat to do next. The bear would have been an easy shot by daylight, ifthere had been no baby to consider. But there was that little bundleof humanity, the man's own flesh and blood, and a bullet in order topierce the bear's heart must strike within a few inches of the baby'shead. The task that King Gessler set William Tell, was child's playcompared with this. To shoot might mean to kill his own child, and notto shoot might mean a still more terrible death for the infant.
The child's wails now grew louder and more frequent. The old bearbecame uneasy; in another moment she might flee farther into the woods,or worse than that, might silence the little one with a blow or acrunch of her powerful jaws.
The desperate man raised his gun. The fitful moonlight shimmered anddanced upon the barrel, and the shadows from the tree-tops alternatedwith the dancing moonbeams. He could see the sight but dimly and,added to all this, was the thought that the gun was not a rifle, withan accurate bullet, but an old shotgun loaded with a Minie ball.
At first, his arms shook so that he could not hold the gun steady, butby a mighty effort he nerved himself. For a second the moon favoredhim; a moment the sight glinted just in front of the bear's leftshoulder, frightfully close to his child's head, and then he pressedthe trigger.
A bright flame leaped from the muzzle of the old gun; its roarresounded frightfully through the aisles of the naked woods, and itslast echo was followed by the startled cry of the infant.
Dropping the gun in the snow, the man bounded forward, drawing a longknife from his belt as he ran. Four or five frantic bounds carried himto the foot of the beech, where the bear had stood when he fired.
There in the snow lay the enormous black form, and close beside it in asnowdrift, still nicely wrapped in its blanket, was the child,apparently without a scratch upon it.
