Winnetou, the Apache Knight - Karl Friedrich May (best books to read ever .txt) 📗

“Heavens! what a man you are!” cried Sam. “You’re stronger than the brute! If you could see your face you would be scared; your eyes are staring, your lips are swollen, your cheeks are actually blue.”

“I suppose so; that comes of being a tenderfoot who won’t be beaten, while his teacher gives in and lets a horse and a mule conquer him.”

Sam made a wry face. “Now let up, young fellow. I tell you the best hunter gets whipped some times.”

“Very likely. How are your ribs and other little bones?”

“I don’t know; I’ll have to count ‘em to find out. That’s a fine beast you have under you there.”

“She is indeed. See how patiently she stands; one feels sorry for her. Shall we saddle and bridle her and go back?”

The poor mule stood quiet, trembling in every limb; nor did she try to resist when we put saddle and bridle on her, but obeyed the bit like a well-broken horse. “She’s had a master before,” said Sam.” I’m going to call her Nancy, for I once had a mule by that name, and it’s too much trouble to get used to another. And I’m going to ask you to do me a favor.”

“Gladly; what is it?”

“Don’t tell at the camp what has happened this morning, for they’d have nine days’ sport with me.”

“Of course I won’t; you’re my teacher and friend, so I’ll keep your secrets.”

His queer face lighted up with pleasure. “Yes, I’m your friend, and if I knew you had a little liking for me, my old heart would be warmed and rejoiced.”

I stretched out my hand to him, surprised and touched. “I can easily give you that pleasure, dear Sam,” I said. “You may be sure I honestly care for you with real respect and affection.”

He shook my hand, looking so delighted that even my young self-sufficiency could perceive how lonely this rough, cranky old frontiersman was, and how great was his yearning for human sympathy.

I fastened Dick Stone’s horse with the lasso, and mounting mine, as Sam got on Nancy, we rode away.

“She’s been educated, this new Nancy, in a very good school,” Sam remarked presently. “I see at every step she is going to be all right, and is regaining the old knowledge which she had forgotten among the mustangs. I hope she has not only temperament but character.”

“We’ve had two good days, Sam,” I said.

“Bad ones for me, except in getting Nancy; and bad for you, too, in one way, but mighty honorable.”

“Oh, I’ve done nothing; I came West to get experience. I hope to have a chance at other sport.”

“Well, I hope it will come more easily; yesterday your life hung by a hair. You risked too much. Never forget you’re a greenhorn tenderfoot. The idea of creeping up to shoot a buffalo in the eye! Did ever any one hear the like? But though hunting buffaloes is dangerous, bear-hunting is far more so.”

“Black bear?”

“Nonsense! The grizzly. You’ve read of him?”

“Yes.”

“Well, be glad you don’t know him outside of books; and take care you don’t, for you might have a chance to meet him. He sometimes comes about such places as this, following the rivers even as far as the prairie. I’ll tell you more of him another time; here we are at the camp.”

“A mule, a mule! Where did you get her, Hawkins?” cried all the men.

“By special delivery from Washington, for a tencent stamp. Would you like to see the envelope?” asked Sam, dismounting.

Though they were curious, none asked further quesdtions, for, like the beast he had captured, when Sam wouldn’t he wouldn’t, and that was the end of it.

CHAPTER IV. A GRIZZLY AND A MEETING.

THE morning after Sam and I had caught Miss Nancy we moved our camp onward to begin labor on the next section of the road. Hawkins, Stone, and Parker did not help in this, for Sam was anxious to experiment further with Nancy’s education, and the other two accompanied him to the prairie, where they had sufficient room to carry out this purpose. We surveyors transferred our instruments ourselves, helped by one of Rattler’s men, while Rattler himself loafed around doing nothing.

We came to the spot where I had killed the two buffaloes, and to my surprise I saw that the body of the old bull was gone, leaving a broad trail of crushed grass that led to the adjoining thicket.

“I thought you had made sure both bulls were dead,” Rattler exclaimed. “The big one must have had some life in him.”

“Think so? ” I asked.

“Of course, unless you think a dead buffalo can take himself off.”

“Must he have taken himself off? Perhaps it was done for him.”

“Yes, but who did it? “

“Possibly Indians; we saw an Indian’s footprint over yonder.”

“You don’t say! How well a greenhorn can explain things!” sneered Rattler. “If it was done by Indians, where do you think they came from? Dropped from the skies? Because if they came from anywhere else we’d see their tracks. No, there was life in that buffalo, and he crawled into the thicket, where he must have died. I’m going to look for him.”

He started off, followed by his men. He may have expected me to go, too, but it was far from my thoughts, for I did not like the way he had spoken. I wanted to work, and did not care a button what had become of the old bull. So I went back to my employment, and had only just taken up the measuring-rod, when a cry of horror rang from the thicket, two, three shots echoed, and then I heard Rattler cry: “Up the tree, quick! up the tree, or you’re lost! he can’t climb.”

Who could not climb? One of Rattler’s men burst out of the thicket, writhing like one in mortal agony.

“What is it? What’s happened? ” I shouted.

“A bear, a tremendous grizzly bear!” he gasped, as I ran up to him.

And within the thicket an agonised voice cried: “Help, help! He’s got me!” in the tone of a man who saw the jaws of death yawning before him.

Evidently the man was in extreme danger, and must be helped quickly, but how? I had left my gun in the tent, for in working it hindered me; nor was this an oversight, since we surveyors had the frontiersmen purposely to guard us at our work. If I went to the tent to get the gun, the bear would have torn the man to shreds before I could get back; I must go to him as I was with a knife and two revolvers stuck in my belt, and what were these against a grizzly bear?

The grizzly is a near relation of the extinct cave-bear, and really belongs more to primeval days than to the present. It grows to a great size, and its strength is such that it can easily carry off a deer, a colt, or a young buffalo cow in its jaws. The Indians hold the killing of a grizzly a brilliant feat, because of its absolute fearlessness and inexhaustible endurance.

So it was to meet such a foe that I sprang into the thicket. The trail led further within, where the trees began, and where the bear had dragged the buffalo. It was a dreadful moment. Behind me I could hear the voices of the engineers; before me were the frontiersmen screaming, and between them and me, in indescribable agony, was their companion whom the bear had seized.

I pushed further in, and heard the voice of the bear; for, though this mighty beast differs from others of the bear family in not growling, when in pain or anger it utters something like a loud, harsh breathing and grunting.

And now I was on the scene. Before me lay the torn body of the buffalo, to right and left were the men, who were comparatively safe, having taken to the trees, which a grizzly bear seldom has been known to climb, if ever. One of the men had tried to get up a tree like the others, but had been overtaken by the bear. He hung by both arms hooked to the lowest limb, while the grizzly reached up and held him fast with its fore paws around the lower part of his body.

The man was almost dead; his case was hopeless. I could not help him, and no one could have blamed me if I had gone away and saved myself. But the desperation of the moment seemed to impel me onward. I snatched up a discarded gun, only to find it already emptied. Taking it by the muzzle I sprang over the buffalo, and dealt the bear a blow on the skull with all my might. The gun shattered like glass in my hand; even a blow with a battle-axe would have no effect on such a skull; but I had the satisfaction of distracting the grizzly’s attention from its victim.

It turned its head toward me, not quickly, like a wild beast of the feline or canine family, but slowly, as if wondering at my stupidity. It seemed to measure me with its little eyes, deciding between going at me or sticking to its victim; and to this slight hesitation I owe my life, for in that instant the only possible way to save myself came to me. I drew a revolver, sprang directly at the bear, and shot it, once, twice, thrice, straight in the eyes, as I had the buffalo.

Of course this was rapidly done, and at once I jumped to one side, and stood still with my knife drawn. Had I remained where I was, my life would have paid for my rashness, for the blinded beast turned quickly from the tree, and threw itself on the spot where I had stood a moment before. I was not there, and the bear sought nine with angry mutterings and heavy breathing. It wheeled around like a mad thing, hugged itself, rose on its hind legs, reaching and springing all around to find me, but fortunately I was out of reach. Its sense of smell would have guided it to me, but it was mad with rage and pain, and this prevented its instinct from serving it.

At last it turned its attention more to its misfortune than to him who had caused it. It sat down, and with sobs and gnashing of teeth laid its fore paws over its eyes. I was sorry that necessity for saving human life was causing the big fellow such pain, and, with pity for it, as well as desire for my own safety, tried to make it short. Quietly I stood beside it and stabbed it twice between the ribs. Instantly it grabbed for me, but once more I sprang out of the way. I had not pierced its heart, and it began seeking me with redoubled fury. This continued for fully ten minutes. It had lost a great deal of blood, and evidently was dying; it sat down again to mourn its poor lost eyes. This gave me a chance for two rapidly repeated knife-thrusts, and this time I aimed better; it sank forward, as again I sprang aloof, made a feeble step to one side, then back, tried to rise, but had not sufficient strength, swayed back and forth in trying to get on its feet, and then stretched out and was still.

“Thank God!” cried Rattler from his tree, “the beast is dead. That was a close call we had.”

“I don’t see that it was a close call for you,” I replied. “You took good care of your own safety. Now you can come down.”

“Not yet;