Kings in Exile

“We start away at 5.40 A.M.,” said he. “An’ I must make out to get a wink o’ sleep. But I reckon I’ve got time enough. As you’ll see, however, before I git through, the drinks are on me, so name yer pison, boys. Meanwhile, you’ll excuse me if I don’t join you this time. A man kin hold jest about so much Vichy an’ milk, an’ I’ve got my load aboard.

“It was kind of this way,” he continued, when the barkeeper had performed his functions. “You see, for nigh ten years after I left Grantham Mills, I’d stuck closer’n a burr to my business, till I began to feel I knew ’most all there was to know about trainin’ animals. Men do git that kind of a fool feelin’ sometimes about lots of things harder than animal-trainin’. Well, nothin’ would do me but I should go back to my old business of trappin’ the beasts, only with one big difference. I wanted to go in fer takin’ them alive, so as to sell them to menageries an’ all that sort of thing. An’ it was no pipe dream, fer I done well at it from the first. But that’s not here nor there. I was gittin’ tired of it, after a lot o’ travellin’ an’ some lively kind of scrapes; so I made up my mind to finish up with a grizzly, an’ then git back to trainin’, which was what I was cut out fer, after all.

“Well, I wanted a grizzly; an’ it wasn’t long before I found one. We were campin’ among the foothills of the upper end of the Sierra Nevada range, in northern California. It was a good prospectin’ ground fer grizzly, an’ we found lots o’ signs. I wanted one not too big fer convenience, an’ not so old as to be too set in his ways an’ too proud to larn. I had three good men with me, an’ we scattered ourselves over a big bit o’ ground, lookin’ fer a likely trail. When I stumbled on to that chap in the cage yonder, what Captain Bird admires so, I knew right off he wasn’t what I was after. But the queer thing was that he didn’t seem to feel that way about me. He was after me before I had time to think of anything jest suitable to the occasion.”

“Where in thunder was yer gun?” demanded the river-man.

“That was jest the trouble!” answered Toomey. “Ye see, I’d stood the gun agin a tree, in a dry place, while I stepped over a bit o’ boggy ground, intendin’ to lay down an’ drink out of a leetle spring. Well, the bear was handier to that gun than I was. When he come fer me, I tell ye I didn’t go back fer the gun. I ran straight up the hill, an’ him too close at my heels fer convenience. Then I remembered that a grizzly don’t run his best when he goes up hill on a slant, so on the slant I went. It worked, I reckon, fer though I couldn’t say I gained on him much, it was soothin’ to observe that he didn’t seem to gain on me.

“Fer maybe well on to three hundred yards it was a fine race, and I was beginnin’ to wonder if the bear was gittin’ as near winded as I was, when slap, I come right out on the crest of the ridge, which jest ahead o’ me jutted out in a sort of elbow. What there was on the other side I couldn’t see, and couldn’t take time to inquire. I jest had to chance it, hopin’ it might be somethin’ less than a thousand foot drop. I ran straight to the edge, and jest managed to throw myself flat on my face an’ clutch at the grasses like mad to keep from pitchin’ clean out into space. It was a drop, all right, – two hundred foot or more o’ sheer cliff.

“An’ the bear was not thirty yards behind me.

“I looked at the bear, as I laid there clutchin’ the grass-roots. Then I looked down over the edge. I didn’t feel frightened exactly, so fur; didn’t know enough, maybe, to be frightened of any animal. But jest at this point I was mighty anxious. You’ll believe, then, it was kind o’ good to me to see, right below, maybe twenty foot down, a little pocket of a ledge full o’ grass an’ blossomin’ weeds. There was no time to calculate. I could let myself drop, an’ maybe, if I had luck, I could stop where I fell, in the pocket, instead of bouncin’ out an’ down, to be smashed into flinders. Or, on the other hand, I could stay where I was, an’ be ripped into leetle frayed ravellin’s by the bear; an’ that would be in about three seconds, at the rate he was comin’. Well, I let myself over the edge till I jest hung by the fingers, an’ then dropped, smooth as I could, down the rock face, kind of clutchin’ at every leetle knob as I went to check the fall. I lit true in the pocket, an’ I lit pretty hard, as ye might know, but not hard enough to knock the wits out o’ me, the grass an’ weeds bein’ fairly soft. An’ clawin’ out desperate with both hands, I caught, an’ stayed put. Some dirt an’ stones come down, kind o’ smart, on my head, an’ when they’d stopped I looked up. There was the bear, his big head stuck down, with one ugly paw hangin’ over beside it, starin’ at me. I was so tickled at havin’ fooled him, I didn’t think o’ the hole I was in, but sez to him, saucy as you please, ‘Thou art so near, an’ yet so far.’ At this he give a grunt, which might have meant anything, an’ disappeared.

“‘Ye know enough to know when you’re euchred,’ says I. An’ then I turned to considerin’ the place I was in, an’ how I was to git out of it.

“To git out of it, indeed! The more I considered, the more I wondered how I’d ever managed to stay in it. It wasn’t bigger than three foot by two, or two an’ a half, maybe, in width, out from the cliff-face. On my left, as I sat with my back agin the cliff, a wall o’ rock ran out straight, closin’ off the pocket to that side clean an’ sharp, though with a leetle kind of a roughness, so to speak – nothin’ more than a roughness – which I calculated might do, on a pinch, fer me to hang on to if I wanted to try to climb round to the other side. I didn’t want to jest yet, bein’ still shaky from the drop, which, as things turned out, was just as well for me.

“To my right a bit of a ledge, maybe six or eight inches wide, ran off along the cliff-face for a matter of ten or a dozen feet, then slanted up, an’ widened out agin to another little pocket, or shelf like, of bare rock, about level with the top o’ my head. From this shelf a narrow crack, not more than two or three inches wide, kind o’ zigzagged away till it reached the top o’ the cliff, perhaps forty foot off. It wasn’t much, but it looked like somethin’ I could git a good finger-hold into, if only I could work my way along to that leetle shelf. I was figurin’ hard on this, an’ had about made up my mind to try it, an’ was reachin’ out, in fact, to start, when I stopped sudden.

“A good, healthy-lookin’ rattler, his diamond-pattern back bright in the sun, come out of the crevice an’ stopped on the shelf to take a look at the weather.

“It struck me right off that he was on his way down to this pocket o’ mine, which was maybe his favorite country residence. I didn’t like one bit the idee o’ his comin’ an’ findin’ me there, when I’d never been invited. I felt right bad about it, you bet; and I’d have got away if I could. But not bein’ able to, there was nothin’ fer me to do but try an’ make myself onpleasant. I grabbed up a handful o’ dirt an’ threw it at the rattler. It scattered all ’round him, of course, an’ some of it hit him. Whereupon he coiled himself like a flash, with head an’ tail both lifted, an’ rattled indignantly. There was nothin’ big enough to do him any damage with, an’ I was mighty oneasy lest he might insist on comin’ home to see who his impident caller was. But I kept on flingin’ dirt as long as there was any handy, while he kept on rattlin’, madder an’ madder. Then I stopped, to think what I’d better do next. I was jest startin’ to take off my boot, to hit him with as he come along the narrow ledge, when suddenly he uncoiled an’ slipped back into the crevice.

“Either it was very hot, or I’d been a bit more anxious than I’d realized, for I felt my forehead wet with sweat; I drew my sleeve across it, all the time keeping my eyes glued on the spot where the rattler’d disappeared. Jest then, seemed to me, I felt a breath on the back o’ my neck. A kind o’ cold chill crinkled down my backbone, an’ I turned my face ’round sharp.

“Will you believe it, boys? I was nigh jumpin’ straight off that there ledge, right into the landscape an’ eternity! There, starin’ ’round the wall o’ rock, not one inch more than a foot away from mine, was the face o’ the bear.

“Well, I was scared. There’s no gittin’ round that fact. There was something so onnatural about that big, wicked face hangin’ there over that awful height, an’ starin’ so close into mine. I jest naturally scrooged away as fur as I could git, an’ hung on tight to the rock so’s not to go over. An’ then my face wasn’t more’n two feet away, do the best I could; an’ that was the time I found what it felt like to be right down scared. I believe if that face had come much closer, I’d have bit at it, that minute, like a rat in a hole.

“For maybe thirty seconds we jest stared. Then, I kind o’ got a holt of myself, an’ cursed myself good fer bein’ such a fool; an’ my blood got to runnin’ agin. I fell to studyin’ how the bear could have got there; an’ pretty soon I reckoned it out as how there must be a big ledge runnin’ down the cliff face, jest the other side o’ the wall o’ the pocket. An’ I hugged myself to think I hadn’t managed to climb ’round on to that ledge jest before the bear arrived. I got this all figgered out, an’ it took some time. But still that face, hangin’ out there over the height, kept starin’ at me; an’ I never saw a wickeder look than it had on to it, steady an’ unwinkin’ as a nightmare. It is curious how long a beast kin look at one without winkin’. At last, it got on to my nerves so I jest couldn’t stand it; an’ snatching a bunch of weeds (I’d already flung away all the loose dirt, flingin’ it at the rattler), I whipped ’em across them devilish leetle eyes as hard as I could. It was a kind of a child’s trick, or a woman’s, but it worked all right, fer it made the eyes blink. That proved they were real eyes, an’ I felt easier. After all, it was only a bear; an’ he couldn’t git any closer than he was. But that was a mite too close, an’ I wished he’d move. An’ jest then, not to be gittin’ too easy in my mind, I remembered the rattler.

“Another cold chill down my backbone! I looked ’round right smart. But the rattler wasn’t anywhere in sight. That, however, put me in mind of what I’d been goin’ to do to him. A boot wasn’t much of a weapon agin a bear, but it was the only thing handy, so I reckoned I’d have to make it do. I yanked it off, took it by the toe, an’ let that wicked face have the heel of it as hard as I could. I hadn’t any room to swing, so I couldn’t hit very hard. But a bear’s nose is tender, on the tip; an’ it was jest there, of course, I took care to land. There was a big snort, kind o’ surprised like, an’ the face disappeared.

“I felt a sight better.

“Fer maybe five minutes nothin’ else happened. I sat there figgerin’ how I was goin’ to git out o’ that hole; an’ my figgerin’ wasn’t anyways satisfactory. I knew the bear was a stayer, all right. There’d be no such a thing as tryin’ to crawl ’round that shoulder o’ rock till I was blame sure he wasn’t on t’other side; an’ how I was goin’ to find that out was more than I could git at. There was no such a thing as climbin’ up. There was no such a thing as climbin’ down. An’ as fer that leetle ledge an’ crevice leadin’ off to the right, – well, boys, when there’s a rattler layin’ low fer ye in a crevice, ye’re goin’ to keep clear o’ that crevice. It wanted a good three hours of sundown, an’ I knew my chaps wouldn’t be missin’ me before night. When I didn’t turn up for dinner, of course they’d begin to suspicion somethin’, because they knew I was takin’ things rather easy an’ not followin’ up any long trails. It looked like I was there fer the night; an’ I didn’t like it, I tell you. There wasn’t room to lay down, and if I fell asleep settin’ up, like as not I’d roll off the ledge. There was nothing fer it but to set up a whoop an’ a yell every once in a while, in hopes that one or other of the boys might be cruisin’ ’round near enough to hear me. So I yelled some half a dozen times, stoppin’ between each yell to listen. Gittin’ no answer, at last I decided to save my throat a bit an try agin after a spell o’ restin’ an’ worryin’. Jest then I turned my head; an’ I forgot, right off, to worry about fallin’ off the ledge. There, pokin’ his ugly head out o’ the crevice, was the rattler. I chucked a bunch o’ weeds at him, an’ he drew back in agin. But the thing that jarred me now was, how would I keep him off when it got too dark fer me to see him. He’d be slippin’ home quiet like, thinkin’ maybe I was gone, an’ mad when he found I wasn’t, fer, ye see, he hadn’t no means of knowin’ that I couldn’t go up the rock jest as easy as I come down. I feared there was goin’ to be trouble after dark. An’ while I was figgerin’ on that till the sweat come out on my forehead, I turned agin, an’ there agin was the bear’s face starin’ round the rock not more’n a foot away.

“You’ll understand how my nerves was on the jumps, when I tell you, boys, that I was scared an’ startled all over again, like the first time I’d seen it. With a yell, I fetched a swipe at it with my boot; but it was gone, like a shadow, before I hit it; an’ the boot flew out o’ my hand an’ went over the cliff, an’ me pretty nigh after it. I jest caught myself, an’ hung on, kind o’ shaky, fer a minute. Next thing, I heard a great scratchin’ at the other side o’ the rock, as if the brute was tryin’ to git a better toehold an’ work some new dodge on me. Then the face appeared agin, an’ maybe, though perhaps that was jest my excited imagination, it was some two or three inches closer this time.

“I lit out at it with my fist, not havin’ my other boot handy. But Lord, a bear kin dodge the sharpest boxer. That face jest wasn’t there, before I could hit it. Then, five seconds more, an’ it was back agin starin’ at me. I wouldn’t give it the satisfaction o’ tryin’ to swipe it agin, so I jest kept still, pretendin’ to ignore it; an’ in a minute or two it disappeared. But then, a minute or two more an’ it was back agin. An’ so it went on, disappearin’, comin’ back, goin’ away, comin’ back, an’ always jest when I wasn’t expectin’ it, an’ always sudden an’ quick as a shadow, till that kind o’ got on to my nerves too, an’ I wished he’d stay one way or t’other, so as I could know what I was up against. At last, settlin’ down as small as I could, I made up my mind I jest wouldn’t look that way at all, face or no face, but give all my attention to watchin’ for the rattler, an’ yellin’ fer the boys. Judgin’ by the sun, – which went mighty slow that day, – I kept that game up for an hour or more; an’ then, as the rattler didn’t come any more than the boys, I got tired of it, an’ looked ’round for the bear’s face. Well, that time it wasn’t there. But in place of it was a big brown paw, reachin’ round the edge of the rock all by itself, an’ clawin’ quietly within about a foot o’ my ear. That was all the farthest it would reach, however, so I tried jest to keep my mind off it. In a minute or two it disappeared; an’ then back come the face.

“I didn’t like it. I preferred the paw. But then, it kept the situation from gittin’ monotonous.

“I suppose it was about this time the bear remembered somethin’ that wanted seein’ to down the valley. The face disappeared once more, and this time it didn’t come back. After I hadn’t seen it fer a half-hour, I began to think maybe it had really gone away; but I knew how foxy a bear could be, an’ thought jest as like as not he was waitin’, patient as a cat, on the other side o’ the rock fer me to look round so’s he could git a swipe at me that would jest wipe my face clean off. I didn’t try to look round. But I kept yellin’ every little while; an’ all at once a voice answered right over my head. I tell you it sounded good, if ’twasn’t much of a voice. It was Steevens, my packer, lookin’ down at me.

“‘Hello, what in h– are ye doin’ down there, Job?’ he demanded.

“‘Waiting fer you to git a rope an’ hoist me up!’ says I. ‘But look out fer the bear!’

“‘Bear nothin’!’ says he.

“‘Chuck an eye down the other side,’ says I.

“He disappeared, but came right back. ‘Bear nothin’,’ says he agin, havin’ no originality.

“‘Well, he was there, ’an’ he stayed all the afternoon,’ says I.

“‘Reckon he must ’a’ heard ye was an animal trainer, an’ got skeered!’ says Steevens. But I wasn’t jokin’ jest then.

“‘You cut fer camp, an’ bring a rope, an’ git me out o’ this, quick, d’ye hear?’ says I. ‘There’s a rattler lives here, an’ he’s comin’ back presently, an’ I don’t want to meet him. Slide!’

“Well, boys, that’s all. That bear wasn’t jest what I’d wanted; but feelin’ ugly about him, I decided to take him an’ break him in. We trailed him, an’ after a lot o’ trouble we trapped him. He was a sight more trouble after we’d got him, I tell you. But afterwards, when I set myself to tryin’ to train him, why, I might jest as well have tried to train an earthquake. Do you suppose that grizzly was goin’ to be afraid o’ me? He’d seen me afraid o’ him, all right. He’d seen it in my eyes! An’ what’s more, I couldn’t forgit it; but when I’d look at him I’d feel, every time, the nightmare o’ that great wicked face hangin’ there over the cliff, close to mine. So, he don’t perform. What’ll ye take, boys? It’s hot milk, this time, fer mine.”

THE DUEL ON THE TRAIL

White and soft over the wide, sloping upland lay the snow, marked across with the zigzag gray lines of the fences, and spotted here and there with little clumps of woods or patches of bushy pasture. The sky above was white as the earth below, being mantled with snow-laden cloud not yet ready to spill its feathery burden on the world. One little farm-house, far down the valley, served but to emphasize the spacious emptiness of the silent winter landscape.

Out from one of the snow-streaked thickets jumped a white rabbit, its long ears waving nervously, and paused for a second to look back with a frightened air. It had realized that some enemy was on its trail, but what that enemy was, it did not know. After this moment of perilous hesitation, it went leaping forward across the open, leaving a vivid track in the soft surface snow. The little animal’s discreet alarm, however, was dangerously corrupted by its curiosity; and at the lower edge of the field, before going through a snake fence and entering another thicket, it stopped, stood up as erect as possible on its strong hind quarters, and again looked back. As it did so, the unknown enemy again revealed himself, just emerging, a slender and sinister black shape, from the upper thicket. A quiver of fear passed over the rabbit’s nerves. Its curiosity all effaced, it went through the fence with an elongated leap and plunged into the bushes in a panic. Here it doubled upon itself twice in a short circle, trusting by this well-worn device to confuse the unswerving pursuer. Then, breaking out upon the lower side of the thicket, it resumed its headlong flight across the fields.

Meanwhile the enemy, a large mink, was following on the trail with the dogged persistence of a sleuth-hound. Sure of his methods, he did not pause to see what the quarry was doing, but kept his eyes and nose occupied with the fresh tracks. His speed was not less than that of the rabbit, and his endurance was vastly greater. Being very long in the body, and extremely short in the legs, he ran in a most peculiar fashion, arching his lithe back almost like a measuring-worm and straightening out like a steel spring suddenly released. These sinuous bounds were grotesque enough in appearance, but singularly effective. The trail they made, overlapping that of the rabbit, but quite distinct from it, varied according to the depth of the surface snow. Where the snow lay thin, just deep enough to receive an imprint, the mink’s small feet left a series of delicate, innocent-looking marks, much less formidable in appearance than those of the pad-footed fugitive. But where the loose snow had gathered deeper the mink’s long body and sinewy tail from time to time stamped themselves unmistakably.

When the mink reached the second thicket, his keen and experienced craft penetrated at once the poor ruses of the fugitive. Cutting across the circlings of the trail, he picked it up again with implacable precision, making almost a straight line through the underbrush. When he emerged again into the open, the rabbit was in full view ahead.

The next strip of woodland in the fugitive’s path was narrow and dense. Below it, in a patch of hillocky pasture ground, sloping to a pond of steel-bright ice, a red fox was diligently hunting. He ran hither and thither, furtive, but seemingly erratic, poking his nose into half-covered moss-tufts and under the roots of dead stumps, looking for mice or shrews. He found a couple of the latter, but these were small satisfaction to his vigorous winter appetite. Presently he paused, lifted his narrow, cunning nose toward the woods, and appeared to ponder the advisability of going on a rabbit hunt. His fine, tawny, ample brush of a tail gently swept the light snow behind him as he stood undecided.

All at once he crouched flat upon the snow, quivering with excitement, like a puppy about to jump at a wind-blown leaf. He had seen the rabbit emerging from the woods. Absolutely motionless he lay, so still that, in spite of his warm coloring, he might have been taken for a fragment of dead wood. And as he watched, tense with anticipation, he saw the rabbit run into a long, hollow log, which lay half-veiled in a cluster of dead weeds. Instantly he darted forward, ran at top speed, and crouched before the lower end of the log, where he knew the rabbit must come out.

Within a dozen seconds the mink arrived, and followed the fugitive straight into his ineffectual retreat. Such narrow quarters were just what the mink loved. The next instant the rabbit shot forth – to be caught in mid-air by the waiting fox, and die before it had time to realize in what shape doom had come upon it.

All unconscious that he was trespassing upon another’s hunt, the fox, with a skilful jerk of his head, flung the limp and sprawling victim across his shoulder, holding it by one leg, and started away down the slope toward his lair on the other side of the pond.

As the mink’s long body darted out from the hollow log he stopped short, crouched flat upon the snow with twitching tail, and stared at the triumphant intruder with eyes that suddenly blazed red. The trespass was no less an insult than an injury; and many of the wild kindreds show themselves possessed of a nice sensitiveness on the point of their personal dignity. For an animal of the mink’s size the fox was an overwhelmingly powerful antagonist, to be avoided with care under all ordinary circumstances. But to the disappointed hunter, his blood hot from the long, exciting chase, this present circumstance seemed by no means ordinary. Noiseless as a shadow, and swift and stealthy as a snake, he sped after the leisurely fox, and with one snap bit through the great tendon of his right hind leg, permanently laming him.

As the pang went through him, and the maimed leg gave way beneath his weight, the fox dropped his burden and turned savagely upon his unexpected assailant. The mink, however, had sprung away, and lay crouched in readiness on the snow, eying his enemy malignantly. With a fierce snap of his long, punishing jaws the fox rushed upon him. But – the mink was not there. With a movement so quick as fairly to elude the sight, he was now crouching several yards away, watchful, vindictive, menacing. The fox made two more short rushes, in vain; then he, too, crouched, considering the situation, and glaring at his slender black antagonist. The mink’s small eyes were lit with a smouldering, ruddy glow, sinister and implacable; while rage and pain had cast over the eyes of the fox a peculiar green opalescence.

For perhaps half a minute the two lay motionless, though quivering with the intensity of restraint and expectation. Then, with lightning suddenness, the fox repeated his dangerous rush. But again the mink was not there. As composed as if he had never moved a hair, he was lying about three yards to one side, glaring with that same immutable hate.

At this the fox seemed to realize that it was no use trying to catch so elusive a foe. The realization came to him slowly – and slowly, sullenly, he arose and turned away, ignoring the prize which he could not carry off. With an awkward limp, he started across the ice, seeming to scorn his small but troublesome antagonist.

Having thus recovered the spoils, and succeeded in scoring his point over so mighty an adversary, the mink might have been expected to let the matter rest and quietly reap the profit of his triumph. But all the vindictiveness of his ferocious and implacable tribe was now aroused. Vengeance, not victory, was his craving. When the fox had gone about a dozen feet, all at once the place where the mink had been crouching was empty. Almost in the same instant, as it seemed, the fox was again, and mercilessly, bitten through the leg.

This time, although the fox had seemed to be ignoring the foe, he turned like a flash to meet the assault. Again, however, he was just too late. His mad rush, the snapping of his long jaws, availed him nothing. The mink crouched, eying him, ever just beyond his reach. A gleam of something very close to fear came into his furious eyes as he turned again to continue his reluctant retreat.

Again, and again, and yet again, the mink repeated his elusive attack, each time inflicting a deep and disastrous wound, and each time successfully escaping the counter-assault. The trail of the fox was now streaked and flecked with scarlet, and both his hind legs dragged heavily. He reached the edge of the smooth ice and turned at bay. The mink drew back, cautious for all his hate. Then the fox started across the steel-gray glair, picking his steps that he might have a firm foothold.

A few seconds later the mink once more delivered his thrust. Feinting towards the enemy’s right, he swerved with that snake-like celerity of his, and bit deep into the tender upper edge of the fox’s thigh, where it plays over the groin.