Chapter XIV: Charley and Walter Go A-Gunning

Charley frequently came ashore in the evening, leaving Bill in charge of the ship. Walter ranched at Clark's Point, near the waterside, and only a few steps from the landing place. The neighborhood, to tell the truth, did not bear a very good reputation, it being a resort for sailors of all nations, whose nightly carousals in the low dramshops generally kept the place in an uproar till morning, and often ended in bloodshed.

Walter was busily engaged in sewing up a rip in his overalls, meantime humming to himself snatches of "The Old Folks at Home," when Charley came stamping into the room. Seating himself on an empty nail-keg, he proceeded to free his mind in the following manner:

"You've been working pretty steady now for--how long?"

"Three months last Monday," assisted Walter, consulting a chalk mark on the wall.

"Long 'nuff to entitle you to a bit of a vacation, I'm a-thinkin'. What say to takin' a little gunnin' trip up country? Bill knows the ropes now pretty well. A friend of mine 'll lend me the shootin' fixin's. Couldn't you get off for a few days, think? Come, get that Ramon chap out of your head for a bit. It's wearin' on you."

Walter jumped at the offer. Thus far he had never set foot out of the city, and Charley, an enthusiast in anything that he had set his mind upon, now portrayed the delights of a tramp among the foothills of the Coast Range in glowing colors. Walter easily found a substitute for the few days he expected to be away, while Charley had nobody's permission to ask. So the very next afternoon saw the two sportsmen crossing the ferry to Contra Costa, Charley carrying a rifle and Walter a shotgun, the necessary traps for camping out being divided equally between them.

"I only hope we may set eyes on a grizzly," Charley remarked, slapping the breech of his rifle affectionately, as they stepped on shore. "That's why I chose this feller," he added.

"Better let grizzlys alone. From all I hear they're pretty tough customers," was Walter's cautious comment.

"I don't care. Just you wait till I see one, that's all. I'm all fixed for him--lock, stock, and barrel."

They soon struck into the well-beaten road leading to the Coast Range, and after steadily tramping until dark entered a small settlement where travelers, coming and going over this route, usually put up for the night. A night's lodging was soon arranged for at the only public house that the place could afford, and after eating a hearty supper, and leaving word with the landlord to call them up as soon as it was light in the morning, the two amateur hunters were glad to tumble into bed.

The house was a two-story frame building, with the second-story windows in front opening upon a veranda, after the Southern style of public houses. The air being hot and close in their room, Walter threw up a window the first thing upon going into it. He saw that one might easily step out from the room onto the veranda, or in, for that matter. Then, there was no lock on the door, but as neither he nor Charley was afraid of being robbed, the want of a lock did not prevent their going to sleep as soon as they struck their beds. It is probable that they did not even turn over once during the night.

Walter was awakened by the sound of a gentle scratching, or tapping, at the door. Upon opening his eyes he perceived that it was beginning to be quite light. He listened until the sound was repeated, sat up in bed, and being satisfied that it must be some one calling them to get up, slipped out of bed, yawning and stretching himself, went to the door, half opened it, and, still only half awake, peered out.

What he saw made him start back in affright, and his hair to rise up on his head In an instant.

Standing erect on his hind feet, clumsily beating the air with his forepaws and lolling out a long red tongue, was an enormous, shaggy grizzly bear at least a foot taller than Walter himself.

One look was enough. Giving one yell, Walter made a dash for the open window, leaped out upon the veranda, vaulted over it, and grasping firm hold of the railing, let himself drop down into the street. Imagining that the bear was close behind, he incontinently took to his heels, not even turning to look back over his shoulder to see what had become of Charley.

Startled out of a sound sleep by Walter's cry of alarm, Charley threw off the bedclothes, rubbed his eyes, and, with their aid, saw the bear waddling with rolling gait into the room on all fours. He too made a dash for the window, adopting without hesitation the only route of escape open to him.

The bear quickly followed suit, sliding with ease down an upright, and, on touching the ground, immediately set off after the fugitives, upon whom the discovery that the bear was after them acted like a spur upon a mettled charger. They no longer ran, they flew.

Up to this hour the village had not shaken off its slumbers, but the frantic shouts of the fugitives, who saw that the faster they ran the faster ran the bear, quickly aroused other sleepers from their morning nap. Dogs began to bark and give chase to the bear. Windows began to be thrown up, and heads to appear at them. Still the race for life continued. Bruin was evidently gaining upon the fugitives, who could not much longer keep up the pace at which they were going. Feeling his breath failing him, Charley, who was a few rods behind Walter, had even almost made up his mind to stop short in his tracks, face about, and let the bear work its will upon him, so giving his bosom friend a chance to escape.

Fortunately, however, this heroic self-sacrifice was not to be made. At the last house a street door was seen very cautiously to open, while a head protruded from it. Ceremony here was quite out of the question. Walter instantly dashed into this welcome haven of refuge, with Charley, now quite spent, at his heels, overturning the man of the house in their mad rush for safety. It took but a moment to shut and bolt the door, and, as if that was not enough, Walter braced his back against it, panting and breathless. Only when this was done, did the two friends draw a free breath. Both were completely done up.

Excited by the chase, enraged at seeing his victims escaping, the bear snuffed the air, pawed at the door, swayed his huge bulk to and fro, and gave vent to his rage in loud and unearthly roarings that could be heard by every inhabitant of the village.

Meantime the man into whose premises the two young men had so unceremoniously entered, after taking a good look at the bear out of the window, almost bent double in the effort to control his laughter. "Why, boys," said he, between fits of choking, "that's Jem Stackpole's tame grizzly." He had recognized the animal now holding them besieged as one that had been taken when a cub, and brought up by the landlord of the public house from which the boys had made their sudden exit, as an object of curiosity to his guests. The iron collar which Bruin still wore confirmed this account. It was all plain enough now. Having contrived to free himself from his chain, the bear had easily gained access to the house by climbing up the before-mentioned veranda bear-fashion. He was considered quite harmless, the man explained, but on seeing the young men run away the bear had run after them, at first out of mere playfulness. So Walter and Charley had been running a race with a tame grizzly, through the public street of the village, in broad daylight, in their night clothes.

By this time something of a crowd had collected, all tongues going at once. The laugh of course went against the boys, though some were in favor of shooting the bear, and so putting an end to his wild pranks. His master, however, who now came forward with a pitchfork in one hand and an earthenware dish containing a stiff mixture of whisky and honey in the other, objected to having the bear killed, although the creature was now so ferocious that no one dared to go near him.

Setting the dish down upon the ground, and silently waving the crowd back, the man began calling the bear by his pet name of "Rusty" in a coaxing tone, and presently Bruin, having scented the seductive mixture, marched toward it and began lapping it up, occasionally emitting a fierce growl by way of notifying the bystanders to keep their distance.

By the time the dish was licked clean Bruin was dead-drunk and rolling helplessly in the dirt. His chain was then securely fastened on, and the brute ignominiously dragged off to the stable to sleep off his potations.

Walter and Charley were compelled to borrow a pair of trousers apiece before they could venture back to the public house, the observed of all observers. Needless to say, they made all haste to leave the inhospitable spot. Upon calling for their bill, the landlord declared there was nothing to pay, and, with a straight face, politely hoped they would recommend his house to their friends.

Walter insisted upon paying, but the landlord was firm. The fame of the tame-bear hunt would attract customers to his house, he said. Under the circumstances he could not think of making any charge whatever.

When they were well out of the village, Charley, who had maintained a dogged silence, suddenly turned to Walter and exclaimed, "I won't tell if you won't!"

"Don't be a ninny," was the curt reply.

"If I'd only had my rifle!" muttered Charley, who, all the same, could not forbear looking backward every few minutes as they trudged on.

The disconsolate pair made their way up among the foothills, but neither seemed to be in the right mood for keen sportsmen, or else game was not so plenty as they had expected to find it. After Charley had blown the nipple out of his rifle in firing at a coyote, and Walter had shot half a dozen rabbits, which, though wounded, succeeded in reaching their holes and crawling into them, the twain willingly turned their faces homeward. Footsore and weary, but with appetites sharpened by their long tramp, they were only too glad to set foot once again in the streets of the city. With a brief "So long, Charley," "So long, Walt," "Mum, you know," "Hope to die," they separated to go their respective ways.