The hunters struck a trail that led to the valley once occupied by the beavers. It was a beautiful, crisp October morning, and a thick frost glistened on the forest floor. Red, orange, and yellow leaves hung motionless on the trees, for not a breath of air stirred. The clop of the horses’ hooves and the whisper of the men’s moccasins were all that disturbed the peacefulness of the day.
As the most experienced bear hunter, Bob took the lead. After he had crept along for several miles, he suddenly froze when excited grunts burst from a neighboring thicket. After ordering the dogs to stay, he tiptoed toward the sound. Then, he peered around an oak trunk to spy a big bruin pawing savagely at a rotted pine stump. Its claws slashed and dug at the spongy wood until its thick, black fur was covered with chips.
Holding his finger to his lips, Bob motioned for Jack and Red Hawk to join him in his place of concealment. When they crept forward, they were treated to a most hilarious sight. The bear had now driven its fist through the stump and yanked it out covered with honey. It was immediately beset by a swarm of bees that stung its head, nose, and tongue. Despite the vicious attack, it slurped the honey from its paw and punched it into the hive for more. The brute’s greed made it impervious to pain, and it continued to gorge itself and growl at its angry assailants. There were so many bees circling the bear’s head, the hunters could barely see it. Yet, the beast never stopped eating until startled by the men’s loud chortles. Then, it covered both paws with honey and reluctantly lumbered off licking at the gooey treat. The bees followed the bear far into the woods, and its yips and growls continued long after it had disappeared.
When the bear finally left, Red Hawk said, “Why let him get away? Could have sicced dogs on him. Nice pelt. Much meat!”
“After the laugh he give us?” guffawed Jack, the tears still streaming down his face.
“Waugh! It was quite a show he put on!” roared Bob. “You young hunters are all too bloodthirsty.”
“But what if we not find other bear?”
“There’s plenty more. You’ll see.”
“Yes, one up every stump, if ya can believe this old coot!” kidded Jack.
After eating the cold deer meat Little Mink had packed for them, the woodsmen continued their journey. They soon entered a dense grove where chestnuts hung in abundance from every tree. They hadn’t gone far when they heard the branches cracking overhead. When a large limb tumbled down on them, Red Hawk peered up into the leaves and spotted a bear.
“What him doing?” cried the lad. “Try to kill us?”
“Jess harvestin’ some nuts,” answered Hawkins coolly. “Dang, I can’t git a clear shot.”
“Then, let’s rattle ’im!”
Bearbite strode to the chestnut trunk and banged on it with his rifle butt until the bear climbed feverishly upward. When the dogs saw the bruin, they yipped and barked and howled up the tree. They raised such a ruckus that it ascended higher still. Now, only a little black fur showed, so Red Hawk climbed up after the beast.
“Where ya goin’?” shouted Bob. “Don’t be a dang fool!”
“I kill him with tomahawk! Ahhhh!”
Jack circled the tree, watching his brother attack the brute. It snarled, bared its teeth, and then shinnied out the smallest limb it dared. This brought it into Hawkins’ sights, and he fired at the bear’s front shoulder. There was a loud whack, followed by a spray of blood.
When the bear felt itself falling, it curled up in a ball and plummeted to the earth in a shower of leaves and branches. Before the dogs could reach it, it uncoiled its legs and assumed a defensive stance. Then, all dissolved in a roll-and-tumble fight that left Bearbite with no opening for a shot.
Jack drew his long knife and entered the fray. His quick eyes picked black fur from brown, and he plunged his blade to the hilt into the squirming pile. In response, a large paw knocked him sideways. Then, he saw his knife sticking from the bruin’s rump. The brute roared with fury and flung off the dogs. Standing on its hind legs, it slashed at the air as it strode toward Jack. It reached out to rake the stunned man’s face when its brains exploded out the front of its skull.
Winslow lowered his smoking gun and drew his knife. Red Hawk had just climbed down from the tree and stood gaping at the outstretched claws of the dead bear. Jack retrieved his blade and started skinning the brute that twitched not two inches away. No one said a word while they yanked off the fur and butchered the meat. They rewarded the dogs with bear steaks and hardy pats of praise. Then, they built a fire to cook steaks for themselves. The grim encounter kept them silent through dinner, too.
Finally, Jack said, “Dad gum it, that were too close! Maybe we should go back ta deer huntin’ an’ fergit it.”
“No,” replied Bob. “We jess gotta be smarter, let the dogs tree ’em, an’ shoot the varmints from a distance. Ain’t no heroes in bear huntin’. Only dead fellas who got careless.”
“I now understand,” mumbled Red Hawk, staring down at the claws he had cut from the bear’s paw. “If these rip Jack or me, we never hunt again.”
“Er make sons ta help rid us o’ these beasts,” said Bob with a wink.
“All yer boy’s gotta do is screech like a cougar,” chortled Lightnin’, “an’ they’d be gone tomorrow.”
“Don’t I know it!”