Black Bruin | Page 7

strike within a few inches of the baby's head. The
task that King Gessler set William Tell, was child's play compared with
this. To shoot might mean to kill his own child, and not to shoot might
mean a still more terrible death for the infant.
The child's wails now grew louder and more frequent. The old bear
became uneasy; in another moment she might flee farther into the
woods, or worse than that, might silence the little one with a blow or a
crunch of her powerful jaws.
The desperate man raised his gun. The fitful moonlight shimmered and
danced upon the barrel, and the shadows from the tree-tops alternated
with the dancing moonbeams. He could see the sight but dimly and,
added to all this, was the thought that the gun was not a rifle, with an
accurate bullet, but an old shotgun loaded with a Minie ball.
At first, his arms shook so that he could not hold the gun steady, but by
a mighty effort he nerved himself. For a second the moon favored him;
a moment the sight glinted just in front of the bear's left shoulder,
frightfully close to his child's head, and then he pressed the trigger.
A bright flame leaped from the muzzle of the old gun; its roar
resounded frightfully through the aisles of the naked woods, and its last
echo was followed by the startled cry of the infant.
Dropping the gun in the snow, the man bounded forward, drawing a
long knife from his belt as he ran. Four or five frantic bounds carried
him to the foot of the beech, where the bear had stood when he fired.
There in the snow lay the enormous black form, and close beside it in a
snowdrift, still nicely wrapped in its blanket, was the child, apparently
without a scratch upon it.

CHAPTER III
A WILDERNESS BABY
When the young farmer beheld the great hulk of the black bear lying
motionless at the foot of the beech, and saw his child lying unharmed in
the snow, his eye, that had been so keen at the moment of peril, grew
dim and his senses swam, like one upon a high pinnacle, about to fall.
But it was only for a second. His strong nerves soon restored him, and
he stooped and picked up the baby, although he was so blinded with
glad tears that he had to grope for the precious bundle.
What a miracle it was, he thought; only the watchful care of a special
Providence could have steadied his hand for that desperate shot. The
more he considered, the more miraculous it seemed, and with a heart
welling up with praise and gratitude, he silently thanked God for the
deliverance, then woke the leafless forest with a glad, "Halloo."
This was intended for the old hound, and she at once responded with a
quick succession of joyous barks.
The man had been a little uncertain of the direction home, as he had
followed the trail feverishly, but the dog's greeting at once set him right.
Shielding the baby in his arms, and picking out as good footing as he
could in the uncertain light, he made all haste back to his faithful
canine, whose whines and barks guided him from time to time.
"It's all right, Hecla, old girl, I've got him," he cried as soon as he came
within speaking distance of the dog. The father's joy was so great that
he had to impart it to some one.
He lost no time in untying the dog and with her as a guide they were
able to follow the homeward trail through the darkest places in safety.
He must make all possible haste, for he remembered the look of mute
agony in his wife's eyes, as she stood at the door watching his
departure.

"Home, home, Hecla!" he cried, each time they plunged into deeper
gloom than usual. "We must hurry."
But the good dog needed no urging. Out and in, unerringly, she led him,
until the open pasture lot was reached.
Then with a glad bark she bounded over the stone wall and started
across the fields at a pace that her master could not keep. He did not
call her back, for he felt sure that she could impart the glad news to her
mistress before his coming, and anything to relieve the suspense at
home was desirable.
While the two had been floundering through the deep woods upon their
seemingly hopeless quest, the grief-stricken mother had paced the
kitchen floor, wringing her hands and moaning. Occasionally, as the
moments dragged slowly by, she would go to the piazza and listen until
it seemed that her ear-drums would burst with the intensity of her effort,
but only the moaning