Wild Western Scenes. J. B. Jones
his vow in every particular, he too was soon steeped in undisturbed slumber.
CHAPTER II.
Boone hunts the bear—Hounds and terriers—Sneak Punk, the Hatchet-face—Another stump—The high passes—The bear roused—The chase—A sight—A shot—A wound—Joe—His meditations—His friend, the bear—The bear retreats—Joe takes courage—He fires—Immense execution—Sneak—The last struggle—Desperation of the bear—His death—Sneak's puppies—Joe.
By the time the first streaks of gray twilight marked the eastern horizon, Boone, at the head of the party of hunters, set out from the encampment and proceeded down the river in the direction of the place where Joe had been so roughly handled by Bruin. All, with the exception of Glenn and his man, being accustomed to much walking, were on foot. Glenn rode his white steed, and Joe was mounted on his little black pony. The large hounds belonging to Boone, and the curs, spaniels, and terriers of the emigrants were all taken along. As they proceeded down the river, Boone proposed the plan of operations which was to guide their conduct in the chase, and each man was eager to perform his part, whatever it might be. It was arranged that a portion of the company should precede the rest, and cross the level woodland about two miles in width, to a range of hills and perpendicular cliffs that appeared to have once bounded the river, and select such ravines or outlets as in their opinion the bear would be most likely to pass through, if he were indeed still in the flat bottom-land. At these places they were to station themselves with their guns well charged, and either await the coming of the animal or the drivers; the first would be announced by the yelping of the dogs, and the last by the hunters' horns.
Glenn and one or two others remained with Boone to hunt Bruin in his lair, while Joe and the remainder of the company were despatched to the passes among the hills. There was a narrow-featured Vermonter in this party, termed, by his comrades, the Hatchet-face, and, in truth, the extreme thinness of his chest and the slenderness of his limbs might as aptly have been called the hatchet-handle. But, so far from being unfit for the hardy pursuits of a hunter, he was gifted with the activity of a greyhound, and the swiftness and bottom of a race-horse. His name was Sneak Punk, which was always abbreviated to merely Sneak, for his general success in creeping up to the unsuspecting game of whatsoever kind he might be hunting, while others could not meet with such success. He had been striding along some time in silence a short distance in advance of Joe, who, even by dint of sundry kicks and the free use of his whip, could hardly keep pace with him. The rest were a few yards in the rear, and all had maintained a strict silence, implicitly relying on the guidance of Sneak, who, though he had never traversed these woods before, was made perfectly familiar with the course he was to pursue by the instructions of Boone.
Although the light of morning was now apparent above, yet the thick growth of the trees, whose clustering branches mingled in one dense mass overhead, made it still dark and sombre below; and Joe, to divert Sneak from his unconscionable gait, which, in his endeavours to keep up, often subjected him to the rude blows of elastic switches, and many twinges of overhanging grape vines, essayed to engage his companion in conversation.
"I say, Mr. Sneak," observed Joe, with an eager voice, as his pony trotted along rather roughly through the wild gooseberry bushes, and often stumbled over the decayed logs that lay about.
"What do you want, stranger?" replied Sneak, slackening his gait until he fell back alongside of Joe.
"I only wanted to know if you ever killed a bear before," said Joe, drawing an easy breath as Pete fell into a comfortable walk.
"Dod rot it, I hain't killed this one yit," said Sneak.
"I didn't mean any offence," said Joe.
"What makes you think you have given any?"
"Because you said dod rot it."
"I nearly always say so—I've said so so often that I can't help it. But now, as we are on the right footing, I can tell you that I wintered once in Arkansaw, and that's enough to let you know I'm no greenhorn, no how you can fix it. And moreover, I tell you, if old Boone wasn't here hisself, I'd kill this bar as sure as a gun, and my gun is as sure as a streak of lightning run into a barrel of gunpowder;" and as he spoke he threw up his heavy gun and saluted the iron with his lips.
"Is your's a rifle?" inquired Joe, to prolong the conversation, his companion showing symptoms of a disposition to fall into his habit of going ahead again.
"Sartainly! Does anybody, I wonder, expect to do any thing with a shot-gun in sich a place as this?"
"Mine's a shot-gun," said Joe.
"Dod—did you ever kill any thing better than a quail with it?" inquired Sneak, contemptuously.
"I never killed any thing in my life with it—I never shot a gun in all my life before to-night," said Joe.
"Dod, you haven't fired it to-night, to my sartain knowledge."
"I mean I never went a shooting."
"Did you load her yourself?" inquired Sneak, taking hold of the musket and feeling the calibre.
"Yes—but I'm sure I did it right. I put in a handful of powder, and paper on top of it, and then poured in a handful of balls," said Joe.
"Ha! ha! ha! I'll be busted if you don't raise a fuss if you ever get a shot at the bar!" said Sneak, with emphasis.
"That's what I am after."
"Why don't you go ahead?" demanded Sneak, as Joe's pony stopped suddenly, with his ears thrust forward. "Dod! whip him up," continued he, seeing that his companion was intently gazing at some object ahead, and exhibiting as many marks of alarm as Pete. "It's nothing but a stump!" said Sneak, going forwards and kicking the object, which was truly nothing more than he took it to be. Joe then related to him all the particulars of his nocturnal affair with the supposed stump, previous to his arrival at the camp, and Sneak, with a hearty laugh, admitted that both he and the pony were excusable for inspecting all the stumps they might chance to come across in the dark in future. They now emerged into the open space which was the boundary of the woods, and after clambering up a steep ascent for some minutes, they reached the summit of a tall range of bluffs. From this position the sun could be seen rising over the eastern ridges, but the flat woods that had been traversed still lay in darkness below, and silent as the tomb, save the hooting of owls as they flapped to their hollow habitations in the trees.
The party then dispersed to their coverts under the direction of Sneak, who with a practised eye instantly perceived all the advantageous posts for the men, and the places where the bear would most probably run. Joe had insisted on having his revenge, and begged to be stationed where he would be most likely to get a shot. He was therefore permitted to remain at the head of the ravine they had just ascended, through which a deer path ran, as the most favourable position. After tying Pete some paces in the rear, he came forwards to the verge of the valley and seated himself on a dry rock, where he could see some distance down the path under the tall sumach bushes. He then commenced cogitating how he would act, should Bruin have the hardihood to face him in the daytime.
Boone and his party drew near the spot where the bear had been seen the previous night. The two large hounds, Ringwood and Jowler, kept at their master's heels, being trained to understand and perform all the duties required of them, while the curs and terriers were running helter-skelter far ahead, or striking out into the woods without aim, and always returning without effecting any thing. At length the two hounds paused, and scented the earth, giving certain information that they had arrived at the desired point. The curs and terriers had already passed far beyond the spot, being unable to decide any thing by the nose, and always relying on their swiftness in the chase when they should be in sight of the object pursued.
Now, Glenn perceived to what perfection dogs could be trained, and learned, what had been a matter of wonder to him, how Boone could keep up with them in the chase. The hounds set off at a signal from their