A BEAR STORY.

Waipawa Mail, Volume XIII, Issue 2502, 6 September 1890, Page 5

A BEAR STORY.

(boy’s own pater.) Hudson’s Bay is not, perhaps, the pleasantest of placos in the depth of winter. That is, however, the time when it presents m -“attractions for those who visit it, for tlxe c.»ld drives the animals from their hiding-places, and the difficulty of finding anything to eat makes them bold in pursuit of food, even to the extent of snatching it from the jaws of a trap. A Email party of trappers wore seated round a camp-fire one night a few years ago. They had a blaze big enough to attract all the animals of the forest, for it was bitterly cold, and fuel cost nothing. “ I saw bear-tracks to day,” remarked Coppee, a French-Canadian. “ I shall hunt him to-morrow.” “ You’re always seeing trucks,” said Martin, a burly Englishman, “ but you never seem to come up with the bear. Foxes are more in your line.” Coppee looked as if he would like to have retorted with more than words. But he was a good-natured little follow, and could make allowance for Martin’s want of amiabiht.. “ I shall try and find this one,- was his reply. His eye twinkled with joyffil anticipation, for he had discovered the home of the bear, a discovery which he meant to keep secret. “ You can tgo to-morrow, Coppee,” put u Hopkins, a Yankee. “ You’re to go to the cache; the agent will be along soon.” “ Ah, so I have !” exclaimed Coppee, dolorously. “ Never mind, my bear will keep for a day or two.” “. Where’s his hole ?” J inquired Martin, carelessly. “ Ah ! wouldn’t you like to know ?” was Coppee’s evasive reply. “ No, my friend, I mean to pay my morning call by myself.” “ That bear will live alouely life, then, that’s all I can say,” retorted Martin, rising to throw more pine knots on the fire. “ We shall see,” said Coppee, “ only don’t expect a paw all to yourself when I bring the skin home.” “ I’ll oat the skin when you bring it,” responded Martin, laughing. Coppee made no reply, but his face showed the determination to cany out his intention of killing Brain. Soon after all the trappers rolled themselves in their blankets aud dropped off to sleep. They woke early ; the fire still smouldered. They made a hunter’s breakfast, aud each prepared to go hia own direction. “Where are you off to, Martin?” asked Hopkins. “Up by the ravine. I shall be back early to-day. Look out for that bear, Coppee.” “ I shall not call on him to-day ; I’m off for the cache.” “ Well, it's all the same for the bear,” was Martin’s remark, as he shouldered his gun and lance and strode off. Coppee gave one of his light-hearted laughs and started in the opposite direction. “ He is angry that he did not find the tracks himself,” he thought. “ Poor Martin !he has had bad luck this season. So havo I, though, till now ; but when I’ve shot this bear I shan’t be able to complain.” He walked rapidly along, for he had a long journey before him. The “ cache” he was about to visit was a<holc beside a tree, carefully boarded up and covered over. Iu this were hidden the skins of the animals they captured. At stated times the company's agent came round and took them away. One of his visits was nearly due, and Coppee had to make a preliminary inspection of the cache. He was al>out four miles from tho oimp, swinging along with a hunter’s stride, when lie stopped as if he had been shot. A minute after he was retracing his steps at a long trot. Au unwelcome thought had struck Martin had said that he was going to the ravine. Coppee knew tliat. “ tho ravine” meant a certain gorge between some rocky hills, a part of the district which Martin rarely visited. It was to this very ravine that he had tracked the bear on the previous day. By this time it was quite possible Martin had come across the tracks, ana, forsaking his gins and traps, had act off to trace where they led. If so, he would never rest content till he had killed the bear. And that boar fairly belonged to him, Coppee. That would never do. llow could he endure tho chaff of tiie camp after liis tirade of the previous evening r No ; be was resolved that come whot might he would be first ou the spot, and not leave to Martin the chance of killing the largest bear he had seen signs of during the whole season.

.So the littlo Frenchman ploughed his way along, taking a short eut through the woods. What was it made him }»uu3o for a moment and then redoubled his pace ?

It was this. Ho remembered suddenly that all the trucks leading to the bear’s cave were on tho side of tho ravine farthest from the camp. He had come across them on his wa v home but Martin, entering the ravine from the other end. would see nothing to raise his suspicions till he reached the <-ave. The bear would have scented him long before, and the terrible fear which crossed Cop pec's mind was that Martin would be attacked unawares. Such au unequal contest could have but one result.

Coppoe forgot all alxrat his own desire to kill the bear : his one hope now was that Martin might have succeeded in doing so. Never had he run so fast in his life. He pelted over the snow, choosing, where possible, the ground sheltered from the drift.

It soemed an age before the ravtuo was reached. He leapt from rock to rock with more agility than prudeucc*. One more turn and he would be in sight of the cave. He was at the very corner when a terribly cryreached his ears. lie leapt forward to see his worst fours icalised. An enormous bear had rushed on Martin, who had not even time to tire; his weapon was dash'd from his hand, and he was thrown violently to tho ground. Connce raised a snout, hoping to turn the beast’s* attention. Ilia idea bore fruit—the bear turned in his direction for a moment, giving Martiu time to draw his long hunter’s knife but, before he could use it the tear, with an angry growl, sprang on him again. Another moment it would have been all prevented Martin from even turning. But Coppee had made the most of the few seconds and was now but half a dozen yards off'. He took a hasty aim. all trembling as ha was with his tremendous exertions ; the ball hit the bear under the shoulder. With a fearful he sprung off Martin’s body and began bitiug the wounded part. Now came Martin's turn. With a temerity horn of a hunter’s life lie raised himself o:i hi# hand and plunged his knife into the body of his foe. It found his heart.

Martin rose to his feet, and for the first time SL “ I kilFed tfie ljear,” he said. Coppee looked at him in astonishment for a moment ami then burst into one of i*:s ui .ny U “ g You are right,” he -aid ; “ you killed the bear. I came too late.” “No, you didn’t,” replied Martin-; “you came at * just about the nick or time. If it hadn't been for year shot it would have been a case of • Killed ‘bv a bear * for ray gravestone. I'll do as much for you if ever I get the chance.” Coppee saw that he hid conquered his rival's eneniity for ever. V. hen in the evening they were once more seated round the camp-fire, Martin told the story of his rescue, ami told it in terms which showed he felt deeply Coppee’s conduct. However, none the less could he resist ending his story with, “ But I killed that bear after all !’’