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  9

  A BLACK BEAR CHARGES

  Ted had had an awakening.

  Four days after he sent Nels to work for the Beamish party, Nels hadcome back singing their praises in the loftiest tones. They were allgentlemen of the highest order. Nobody cared what he cooked as long asthere was plenty of whatever it was. Driving Nels into Lorton, Mr.Strickland had asked him to order groceries and had paid the ratherlarge bill without a murmur. That night they'd voted him the best campcook they ever saw and given him a ten-dollar tip.

  Of course, they were a little bit queer. He'd told them his name atleast a dozen times, but everybody insisted on calling him Hjalmar. Theypronounced it exactly as it was spelled, too. Nels didn't mind becauseHjalmar was certainly a fine old name. But it had taken him almost a dayto get used to it.

  They were wonderful hunters, especially that Mr. Beamish. The first dayhe'd shot five grouse, the second seven, and on the two succeeding dayshe'd shot five and seven. That made twenty-three grouse in four daysand he'd used just thirty-two shells. It must be some kind of record orsomething, Nels didn't know. However, each day everyone else in theparty had paid Mr. Beamish money. Nels understood if Mr. Beamish scoredtoo many misses, he'd have to pay all the others. Still singing thepraises of the Beamish party, Nels hurried off to resume his duties withthem.

  Ted was left to ponder a problem that he had hoped he would never haveto face.

  Too many people--who were too often intelligent people--took game lawsfar too lightly. They shot what they wished when they wished to, and fewof them ever thought that they were doing any wrong. Actually, in everysense of the word, they were thieves. Bag and possession limits, insofaras it was humanly possible to apportion wild game justly, were providedso everyone might have a share and still leave some behind. Who tookmore than his share, took from all the others.

  Beyond the shadow of a doubt, it was the duty of anyone who knew of gamelaw violations to report the violator to the nearest warden so theproper action could be taken. But how could Ted report Arthur Beamish'swhen Beamish was his guest? The boy still hadn't made a decision when,the next day, Loring Blade came in.

  The warden said quietly, "I've been watching the grouse hunters in yourcamp."

  "You have?"

  "Yes, and I arrested one of them this morning, a man named Beamish. He'skilled nineteen grouse that I know of, seven over anything he shouldhave had, in four days."

  Ted said reluctantly, "He's killed twenty-three."

  "How do you know?"

  "Nels told me."

  "Wish I'd known that, but I think he'll toe the mark now."

  "What'd you do to him?"

  "Took him before Justice McAfee. Mac fined him fifty dollars and apositive revocation of his license if he violates any more."

  "But--"

  "But what?"

  "There's a twenty-five dollar fine for every illegal grouse. As long asyou were taking him in, you should have had him fined a hundred andseventy-five dollars."

  "Not him," Loring Blade declared. "You can't hurt him too much byhitting him in the pocketbook. His hunting privileges are what he holdsdear."

  It was, Ted decided after the warden had left, a smart way to do things.The penalty for breaking game laws should be harsh, but fining ArthurBeamish a hundred and seventy-five dollars would bother him less than aten-dollar fine might inconvenience a Stacey or a Crawford. However,Beamish's hunting privileges really meant something to him.

  At any rate, the warden's method worked. Nels, who lost none of hisadmiration for the grouse hunters, gave Ted a complete report atintervals. Nobody in the camp took more than the limit after Beamish wasfined--and there was still another angle. Ted had always known that heand his father were in the minority--sometimes it seemed that nobodyexcept he and Al cared what happened to the Mahela. But now the boy wasassured that others worked for its best interests, too.

  The grouse hunters had gone home and for a whole week there would benobody in the camp. There was nothing to worry about in the immediatefuture. Al, as his last note indicated, was doing all right. The Beamishparty, who'd really liked Nels, had expressed their satisfaction in morelavish tips and for the first time in three years, Nels' family couldget by for a while, even if he did not work. However, he could certainlywork all through deer season. The Andersons might face a bleak New Year,but they would have a happy Christmas.

  Ted had decided to seize the week's interlude as a fine time to go overthe camp from top to bottom, but there was little to do. Nels wouldnever write a learned dissertation about Shakespeare, or come up with astartling new aspect of the nuclear fission theory, but whoever hiredhim got all they paid for, plus a substantial bonus. Working by the day,in Nels' opinion, meant working twenty-four hours, if that werenecessary. The cabin was spotless. Even the blankets had been aired.

  With time heavy on his hands, Ted fretted. He collected the six grouseto which he was entitled and put them in the freezer. For lack ofsomething else to do, he went twice more to the three sycamores nearGlory Rock, the scene of Smoky Delbert's shooting. He didn't findanything, but he hadn't really expected to discover any new evidence orclues. Looking for them had helped kill time while he waited anxiouslyfor the bear hunters.

  Deer were not especially hard to get, if all one wanted was venison;there were does and young deer that wouldn't even run from hunters. Butthe big old bucks with acceptable racks of antlers got big because theywere wary and they were difficult to bring down. Woodcock were sportingand who hunted grouse successfully had every right to call himself ahunter. Squirrels were fun, providing one hunted them with a rifleinstead of a shotgun. But unless one used dogs to bring them tobay--and it was against the law to use dogs on any big game in theMahela--black bears were far and away the most difficult game of all.

  Keen-nosed and sharp-eared, they almost always knew when hunters wereabout. Wise, they were well aware of the best ways to preserve their ownhides. As circumstances prescribed, they could slink like ghosts or runlike horses and they laid some heartbreaking trails. Fifty miles was nounusual distance for a black bear to cover in a day and they were fullof tricks. Ted himself had followed black bears on snow and come towhere the trail ended abruptly. The bears had walked backwards, steppingexactly in the tracks they had made running forward, and made a longsidewise jump that always delayed their pursuer and sometimes baffledhim.

  Some men who'd spent their lives in black bear country had yet to seetheir first one. It took hunters of the highest caliber to get them, andthus Ted looked forward to those who would occupy his camp. But while hewaited there was little else to do and he spent some of his time inLorton.

  Just another sleepy little town for forty-nine weeks of the year, Lortonwas almost feverishly preparing for its moment of glory. If it was notexactly the center of all eyes, due to its geographical position as thetown nearest the Mahela, it was the center of deer hunting. Every roomin its two hotels and three motels had long since been reserved and anyhouseholder with a room to rent could have a choice of at least tenhunters. In the next few weeks, Lorton would see at least twice as manydeer hunters as it had permanent residents. Its normally quiet streetswould have bumper-to-bumper traffic. Parking space would be at apremium; there'd be crowds waiting in every eating place; stores wouldsell more merchandise than they did at any other time of the year; andany Lortonite who knew anything at all about the Mahela, even if hisknowledge was limited to how to get into it and out of it again, couldhave a job guiding deer hunters, if he wanted it.

  In addition, every camping ground in the Mahela would have its quota oftrailers, tents and hardy souls who either slept in cars or made theirbeds on the ground. Sometimes, in the event of heavy storms, theseventuresome ones got into trouble and were trapped until snowplows orrescue parties reached them. But this fall the weather had been mild,almost springlike, and there was every indication that it would continueto be so.

  Twice, just after the grouse hunters left and again four days later, Tedsent Tammie to Al
. He would send him again just before deer seasonopened, for that was an uncertain time. There would be hunterseverywhere and no assurance as to what they would do. Horses, cattle,sheep, leaves fluttering in the wind and men had all been mistaken forbucks with nice racks of antlers and punctured accordingly withhigh-powered ammunition. If Tammie should be delayed and have to comeback in daylight, there was no guarantee whatever that sometrigger-happy hunter would not consider him a choice black and whitedeer. Stocking Al with plenty of everything he needed meant that Tammiewould not have to go out again until deer season ended.

  Ted spent the two days prior to the opening of bear season cutting morewood for the camp. On the afternoon before, he built and banked a firein the heating stove so that the camp would be reasonably warm and drywhen the hunters arrived. Then he prepared his supper and Tammie's andwas ready for the knock on his door when it sounded. He opened the doorand blinked in astonishment.

  The man who stood before him was young, not much older than Ted himself,and very grave. He wore hunting clothes and hunting boots, but perhapsbecause they were new, they seemed somewhat ill-fitting. Strapped aroundhis middle were two belts, one containing a knife with a blade at leasta foot long and the other supporting two enormous 45 caliber revolvers.He was making every effort to appear nonchalant, but it was an effort sostrained that the effect was a little ludicrous. His eyes brimmed with alilting excitement and a vast anticipation.

  "Mr. Harkness?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm Alex Jackson."

  "Oh, yes." Ted extended his hand. "Glad to see you, Mr. Jackson."

  "As you can see," Alex Jackson indicated the two revolvers, "I'm readyfor them."

  "Uh--are you going bear hunting with revolvers?"

  "Oh, no! Definitely not. I have my rifle, too. It's just that one mustbe prepared when the beasts charge."

  "Ah--What'd you say?"

  "I said--Oh, before I overlook it."

  Alex Jackson took out his wallet and counted out the thirty-five dollarsstill due on the camp rental. Ted tried to collect his spinningthoughts. Expecting a seasoned, experienced hunter, he'd met instead ayoungster who talked seriously about black bears charging. Or hadn't Tedheard correctly? He slipped the money into his pocket and lookedsidewise at his guest.

  "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to the camp."

  "Would you have a little time to talk?"

  "Of course."

  "May I bring the fellows in?"

  "Certainly."

  The man turned to beckon, and somebody shut off the car's idling motorand flicked off its lights. Five more hunters came into the house, andTed was introduced as they came. None were older than Alex Jackson. Two,Alex's brother Paul and a youngster named Philip Tarbox, looked asthough they should be behind their high-school desks, rather than in ahunting camp. Alex Jackson turned with a smile.

  "Now you know us. How do you like us?"

  "Fine," Ted murmured. "Uh--how much bear hunting have any of you done?"

  Alex Jackson's eyes were full of dreams. "None of us have ever huntedany big game, but I've read all about it."

  "You've never hunted?"

  "Not big game," Alex Jackson said modestly. "You see, I just came of agelast month and thus was able to handle my own affairs. But I've alwayswanted to hunt big game, especially bears."

  "Do--do your folks know you're here?"

  "Paul and I haven't any, and I am now Paul's guardian. But the otherfellows' parents do. Yes, of course, and they were glad to have them inmy charge. I've been counsellor for three summers at Camp Monawami. Youneedn't worry about our ability to handle firearms. We've all huntedrabbits. But I would like to ask your advice."

  "Sure." Ted felt weak.

  "Philip, Steve, Arnold and Wilson are armed with nothing but shotguns.Do you think I should return to the town through which we just passedand buy them rifles and revolvers?"

  "Gosh no!"

  "I'm worried," Alex Jackson said seriously. "Grimshaw, in his _Bears ofthe North_, says that when the beasts charge--"

  "Grimshaw was writing about grizzlies. These are black bears."

  "Oh!" Alex Jackson elevated his brows. "You can say definitely that theywill not charge?"

  "Nobody can say that. They're wild animals."

  "I thought so!" Alex Jackson seemed vastly relieved. "Will a shotgunhalt them when they charge?"

  "Oh, yes."

  Ted wished he could sink through the floor. Expecting hunters, he hadhis hands full of what, very literally, were babes in the woods. Butthey had a great dream and a great hope, and regardless of who told themthat not once in 1000 times will even a wounded black bear charge ahunter, they wouldn't believe it because they did not care to believeit. They had come bear hunting to live dangerously!

  Alex Jackson nodded happily. "Thank you very much. Now will you pleaseshow us the camp?"

  "Follow me."

  As he drove up the Lorton Road, Ted gave himself over to his own grimthoughts. Obviously, there was much more to building and renting campsthan met the casual eye. One never knew who was coming or what they'ddo. Now he was certain only that this crew of naive hopefuls should notventure into the Mahela alone. He wasn't even sure that they should bepermitted to stay in camp without supervision, but he'd risk that muchfor at least one night. He parked in front of the camp, waited for hisguests and admitted them.

  "Just what I'd hoped for!" Alex Jackson exclaimed. "Semi-primitivesurroundings! Delightful!"

  Ted asked, "Can you handle the stoves and everything?"

  "Oh, yes! Oh, indeed yes! But perhaps you will tell us where we have thebest chance of encountering bears?"

  "I'll do better than that. I'll show you."

  "That's good of you. Would you care to start at daylight?"

  "I'll be here."

  "We'll be ready."

  * * * * *

  On arriving at the camp a half hour before daylight the next morning,Ted saw that it was not burned down and that his young guests had madeno obvious blunders. Rather, with breakfast eaten and the dishes stackedaway, they seemed to be doing pretty well for themselves. But, eventhough they knew what to do around a camp, the fact remained that noneof them had ever hunted big game.

  Ted exchanged greetings and looked out of the window. Renting huntingcamps might be a nice way to earn a living, but there must be easierones! The very fact that he'd rented his camp to them implied anobligation. Six hunters who knew exactly what to do had little enoughchance of getting a bear. These youngsters had one in a thousand. But ifthere was any way to do it, Ted still had to offer them their money'sworth and he considered himself responsible for them. Sending them intothe Mahela alone probably, and at the least, meant that they would getlost.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  "Let's go!" Alex Jackson said happily.

  Ted led the six into the lightening morning. Since there was no snow, itwas futile even to think of tracking a bear. Without any experience,these youngsters had no hope whatever of staging a successful drive, orputting four of their number in favorable shooting positions while therest beat through the forest and tried to drive a bear past them. OnlyAlex Jackson and his brother were armed with rifles, therefore they werethe only two who had even a slight chance of getting a bear, should onebe sighted at long range. But the possibilities of even seeing a bearwere so slim anyway that Ted had not wanted Alex to buy rifles for theother four.

  There was just one faint hope.... This was the season of the GreatHarvest. Frost had opened the pods on the beech trees and beech nuts hadfallen like rain into the forest litter below. Tiny things, they were invast quantity. Deer, bears, squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, foxes,practically every creature in the Mahela was spending almost full timefilling itself with beech nuts or storing them away. Winter, that wouldbring hunger and lean bellies, was just ahead and well the wild thingsknew it.

  If Ted posted his crew at favorable places among the beech trees and ifthey sat absolutely quiet, one or more
of them might at least see abear. Very definitely there was not much of a chance, but there was noneat all if they did anything else.

  Al had told of a lot of bears in Carter Valley and Ted took his huntersthere. He left them in various strategic places where scraped and pawedleaves told their own story of being turned aside so that hungrycreatures might partake of the beech nuts hidden beneath. Lacking snow,there was no foolproof way to tell just what had been scraping orpawing, but something had and it might be bears.

  After the rest had been posted, Ted took Alex Jackson out to the rim ofCarter Valley. The slope pitched sharply downwards and rose just assharply on the other side, but here the valley was shallow, with perhapsa hundred yards to its floor. It was possibly another hundred yards fromrim to rim, and the opposite rim was almost treeless. About a half mileaway across the treeless slope was a crumbling slag pile. Years ago avein of coal had been discovered here and mined as long as it paid off.But it had ceased to pay and had been abandoned long before Ted wasborn. Only the tunnel and the slag pile were left.

  The opposite slope was covered with beech brush that would be junglethick to anyone within it. But from this vantage point, eyes couldpenetrate the brush. Any bear going up or down the valley, and one mightdo just that, would certainly travel through the beech brush and anyhunter posted here would surely have some good shooting. Ted turned toAlex Jackson.

  "You stay here."

  "Here?"

  "Yes. Move as little as possible and make no noise. Watch the beechbrush across there. Sooner or later a bear's going through it. I'll pickyou up tonight."

  "Right-o."

  That night, the bear hunters were still reasonably happy. All had seensquirrels and feeding grouse. Four had seen deer and three had watchedturkeys feeding. Paul Jackson had thought he'd seen a bear, but itturned out to be a black squirrel running on the opposite side of afallen tree, with only its bobbing back appearing now and then.

  For the next few days, the sextette stayed quite happy. Then deer,squirrels and turkeys began to pall. They were proud bear hunters, andso far they hadn't seen even a bear's track. The last day,disappointment was in full reign. They'd not only told their friendsthey were going to get a bear but, Ted suspected, Alex Jackson had doneconsiderable talking about the way bears charged hunters.

  Nevertheless, they all followed Ted back into Carter Valley and the fiveyounger hunters took the places assigned them. It was the best way.They'd occupied these same stands for six days without seeing any bears,but sooner or later the law of averages would send one along.

  With Alex Jackson in tow, Ted started back toward the valley's rim. AlexJackson touched his arm.

  "I say, would you mind if I just wandered about on my own?"

  "Not if that's the way you want it."

  Alex Jackson had arrived so full of dreams and spirit and now he seemedso despondent. "I won't get lost--and I may find something," he saidquietly.

  "Good luck," Ted replied gently.

  Ted wandered gloomily out to the rim of the valley and sat down in theplace Alex Jackson had been occupying. Not every hunter can leave thewoods with a full bag of game, but Ted felt that, somehow, he had failedthis eager young group. His guests might at least have _seen_ a bear.Carrying no rifle--he was the guide--and with nothing special to do,Ted basked in the warm sunshine.

  An hour later, his eye was caught by motion down the valley. Coming outof the semi-doze into which he had fallen, he looked sharply at it andgasped. A bear, not a monstrous creature but no cub--it weighed perhaps250 pounds--was coming through the beech brush. It was about two hundredyards down the valley and halfway up the other slope, and it was not inthe slightest hurry. It stopped to sniff at some interesting thing itdiscovered and turned to retrace its steps a few yards. Then it came on.

  Ted groaned inwardly. A rifleman posted here could have an easyshot--and Alex Jackson had sat here idly for six days! The bear came onfor another sixty yards, lay down beside a huge boulder and prepareditself for a nap.

  Ted crawled away. Bears have a remarkable sense of scent and goodhearing, but very weak eyes. This one couldn't see him. If it smelledhim, it certainly would not be where it was. If he was very careful, itmight not hear him. As soon as Ted thought he was far enough from thevalley's rim, he rose and ran back to where he'd left Paul Jackson.

  That alert youngster heard him coming and had his rifle ready, but itsmuzzle was pointed at the ground. Paul Jackson lacked experience, butnot sense. He wasn't going to shoot at anything until he knew what wasin front of his rifle.

  Ted came close and whispered, "Come on! I've got one spotted!"

  "You have?"

  "Take it easy and quiet! He won't be there if you don't!"

  Nearing the valley's rim, Ted dropped back to a crawl. He peered at theboulder and breathed easily again; the bear had not moved. He put hismouth very close to Paul Jackson's ear.

  "There he is!"

  "Where?"

  "Just to the right of that big boulder!"

  "I see him!"

  Paul Jackson knelt, rested his right elbow on his right knee, raised hisrifle--and Ted groaned silently. The youngster's stance was perfect, butso was his buck fever. The rifle shook like an aspen leaf in a highwind. It blasted, and Ted saw the bullet kick up leaves twenty feet toone side of the sleeping bear.

  The bear sprang up as though launched from a catapult and kept onspringing. Straight up the slope he went, and across the nearly treelesssummit.

  Ted shouted, "Shoot!"

  "Did you say shoot?"

  Paul Jackson was still in a daze, bewildered by this thing that couldnot be but was. The bear was four hundred yards away when he raised hisrifle a second time, shot and succeeded only in speeding the runningbeast on its way. He lowered his rifle and muttered, "I guess I'm not avery good hunter."

  "Nobody connects every time."

  The bear was running full speed toward the old mine tunnel. Surprised,its first thought had been to put distance between the hunter anditself, but now it was planning very well. The old tunnel had one outletthat led into a dense thicket of laurel. Certainly the bear knew allabout this and he would go into the thicket. Definitely, he was lost tothe young hunter.

  Then, within the mouth of the old tunnel itself, another rifle crackedspitefully. The running bear swapped ends, rolled over and lay still.Alex Jackson emerged from the tunnel.

  * * * * *

  Twenty minutes later, when Paul and Ted reached him, he was sittingquietly beside his trophy and looking at it with unbelieving eyes. Butthey were wonderfully happy eyes. Long ago he had dreamed his dream.Now--and probably it never had been before and never would be again inhunting annals--he had seen it come true. He looked dreamily up at Tedand Paul and his voice was proof that, whether it's bringing down abear, shooting a hole-in-one, or playing a perfect game of chess, anydream can be as bright as the dreamer makes it.

  "It charged," he said.