Chapter 9 THE SILVER-TIP.

On leaving the wharf, Baranov had led the way directly up through the settlement, past the Mission School, until he reached the very outskirts of the village, where, in a half-cleared patch of ground, the boys stopped to get breath and wave a last good-by to their father.

"Naow," said the guide, with some emphasis, "comes the tug of war. You've both got good thick boots on, I s'pose?"

Tom was well-equipped in this respect, and Fred's shoes were heavy enough for ordinarily rough walking and weather.

"I've got a blanket apiece cached here," continued Baranov, looking about him, and presently drawing out two bundles from beneath a big stump, where he must have hidden them the night before. "They'll be pretty heavy for ye to lug, but thar's no tent, and it'll be cold enough before mornin' to make you glad you brought 'em."

He thereupon produced some twine and straps, and arranged a blanket on the back of each of the two boys, so as to make the loads as easy as possible.

"I've got my blanket and a rubber to put under us," he added, "in my bag."

"Ho, this isn't any load!" shouted Tom. "It's light's a feather."

Solomon smiled grimly as he swung his fifty-pound pack over his shoulder, picked up his ax, and started into the woods.

"It'll grow a leetle heavier before night," he remarked. "It's a way them blankets have, in this country."

"Which way are you going?" asked Fred, adjusting his eyeglasses for the tenth time, as he stumbled over a mossy log.

"Wall, I think we'll strike into the old trail that leads up to the Silver Bow, and foller that fer a piece. Then-I'll see."

A rough tract of land lay between the clearing and the path. Baranov went right ahead, striding along over fallen trees and bowlders, with smoke-wreaths from his pipe floating back over his broad shoulders.

The forest was carpeted with deep, wet moss, into which the boys often sank to their knees; and more than once they tripped and nearly fell. The mountain-side was thickly wooded with spruce, yellow cedar and hemlock, the tough branches of which, wet with dew, twisted around their legs and swished into their faces.

"I say-Thomas," sung out Fred, after ten minutes of this sort of work, "is that blanket-any lighter-than 'twas?"

"Not much! It's gained-five pounds."

"What do think-of the-scenery?"

The emphasis on the last word was caused by his setting foot on the slippery surface of a rock concealed by moss, and sitting down with great firmness.

"Well, it's a pretty good fall landscape," gasped Tom, leaning against a stump, weak from laughter.

But lo! the stump, like many others of its kind thereabouts, was decayed, and over it went, carrying Tom with it.

When the boys had struggled to their feet, they found that Baranov had stopped just ahead of them, and was chuckling over their mishaps.

"Look here, old fellow," cried Tom, "is it going to be this way all day?"

"No, no," said Baranov. "Mebbe I oughtn't to hev laughed at ye. But I saw no harm was done. Ye've got good pluck, both of ye, not to ask me to slow up before naow. P'r'aps I put on a leetle extra steam, to see what ye was made of-with that ar light blanket"-

"O-oh!"

"But the wust on it's over, for quite a spell. Thar's the reg'lar Basin trail jest ahead. We can follow that for a mile or two, before strikin' off up the side of the maounting."

It was a relief to walk in a traveled path once more, although it was a very rough one.

It was just five o'clock when Solomon called a halt, and announced that they were something over three miles from the wharf at Juneau, having been a little more than an hour and a half in reaching this point.

"Isn't this a glorious spot!" exclaimed Tom, throwing himself down beside the path.

The ground was clear for a little way in front of them, and just beyond lay the Silver Bow Basin, narrowing and winding far up among the mountains. On every side the forest-clad slopes rose in grand sweeps from the Basin, and curls of smoke here and there floated up from camps hidden among the trees.

"What's that noise?" asked Fred, as a metallic clicking not far away fell upon their ears.

"Oh! thar's always somebody prospectin' raound with his pick," remarked the hunter. "You'll hear 'em all over the maountings, pretty much."

Close beside them a stream of crystal clear water rushed over its stony bed, across the path toward the valley. The boys unfastened their dippers and drank deeply.

"Have some salmon berries?" asked Solomon. And he threw down a branch of the orange-colored fruit he had just broken off.

"Naow," he said, after a few moments' silence, "we must take to the woods. I gave ye that leetle piece of rough travelin' to kinder harden ye fer what was comin'. Are ye ready, boys?"

"All ready!" they cried, springing to their feet. "Lead the way, Solomon!"

The hunter now left the beaten path and followed up the bed of the stream, which crossed it at right angles. It was hard climbing, and the boys had to stop for frequent rests. Their tramp proceeded, however, without special incident for a couple of hours more, when Baranov threw down his pack and called out "Breakfast."

I ought to have mentioned that a cold lunch had been prepared the night before, and the three trampers had partaken sparingly of it before starting. Now, however, they had a sharpened appetite, and ate ravenously of the doughnuts, hard bread and sandwiches which Solomon brought out of his stores.

This halt occupied about an hour, so that it was nearly nine when they resumed their walk.

Their progress now became very slow. The picks of the miners were no longer heard, and they realized that they were in the veritable Alaskan wilderness. The rush of the little brook was the only sound that broke the silence of the moss-draped and carpeted forest.

They had passed beyond the brow of the mountain immediately overlooking Juneau, and, while the grade was not quite so steep, the evergreens grew more densely, and the stream was so narrow as to barely afford them a pathway. Of course their feet had been soaked during the very first hour of their climb. There was now not a dry stitch on either of the boys, below the waist.

For a few rods, Solomon had been peering here and there; Tom afterward declared he fairly sniffed the air for game, like a hound.

"What is it, Solomon?" called out Tom, picking himself out of a crevice between two wet rocks.

The hunter held up his hand for silence; then stooped and carefully examined a log just in front of him. Calling the boys, he pointed to it with one of his silent chuckles.

Fred adjusted his glasses and eyed the log critically. "It seems just a common, every-day log, don't it, Tom?" he remarked in a guarded voice to that young man.

It was a fallen hemlock, lying directly across their path. Baranov laid his finger lightly on a small reddish spot, where the bark had been scraped off.

"A b'ar did that," he whispered. "An not long ago, neither."

The boys instinctively clutched their empty guns.

"Give me my rifle," the hunter said, in the same tone. "I must load her an' hev her ready in case we come on the critter sudd'nly. But I'll let you do your own shootin' ef I can. Fred, you must take the ax naow, an' be awful keerful of it. Carry it blade aout from ye, an' not over your shoulder. Naow foller me as easy's you kin."

They crept along, Indian file, for half an hour or more.

Tom's foot sank into something that crunched under the moss.

"Snow!" he exclaimed; and indeed they all were standing on the edge of a huge snow bank.

Something about this appeared to please Solomon very much, though the boys could not tell why. But now he was stopping and pointing again. Ah! that was why the old hunter was gratified by finding that the trail crossed a snow bank. Master Bruin could pass through the thick scrub of the forest so deftly that even the keen eye of the best guide in Juneau could hardly distinguish the course of his journey. Not so when he crossed the snow. There was his track, plain enough.

"My! don't it look like a boy's barefoot mark?" exclaimed Tom, quivering with excitement. "Is he near here, do you think, Solomon? What sort of a bear is it? Is he a big one?"

Baranov answered at once, as he shouldered his pack and rifle again:

"The trail's abaout an hour old. He's a purty good-sized black b'ar, I should say. An' it's my opinion we can fetch him afore night."

On they went, faster than before. Indeed, the boys soon noticed that they were now following a sort of beaten track-no other, Solomon assured them, than one of the famous "bear-paths," thousands of which thread the deepest and loneliest jungles of Alaska.

They halted for a hasty dinner and then pressed forward. Baranov could not be positive that the same bear was before them on this hard track, but it seemed highly improbable that Ursus Americanus had left his easy highway for the almost impenetrable growth of evergreens on either side.

It was about three in the afternoon when Baranov halted so suddenly that Fred, who was next behind him, fairly tumbled against him, nearly upsetting the hunter. The latter, however, paid no attention to this. He was too much occupied in examining half a dozen hairs, which he had picked from a low spruce bough projecting across the path.

"What is it?" the boys whispered eagerly, their fatigue gone in a moment.

"Look at them ha'rs!"

"Why, they're almost white! They are white at the tips."

"The animil that went through here ahead of us, left 'em behind," said the guide. "An' it wa'n't no black b'ar, neither, as you can see for yourselves."

"What was it-not grizzly?"

The idea was not wholly a pleasant one, and the young hunters looked nervously around.

"No, no; it's no grizzly. It's my opinion that a big silver-tip, a glacier b'ar, some calls 'em, is just beyond," rejoined Baranov.

"A glacier bear? I never heard of one before," whispered Fred.

"They're ugly fellers, an' mighty scarce raound these parts. The trappers north of here call 'em Mount St. Elias b'ars, because there's more of 'em there. The pelt's wuth double a black b'ar's. It'll be great luck ef we find one."

This whole conversation was carried on in an undertone, and without further noise or delay, the party pushed on.

At the end of half an hour's forced march they found themselves on a sort of level tableland, at a great elevation above the sea. Here and there were patches of snow, and small glaciers could be distinctly seen on distant mountain slopes, toward the east and north.

The scene near at hand was utterly desolate and forbidding. The bear path, too, had "ended in a squirrel track and run up a tree," Tom declared. He was on the point of proposing a halt for a rest, if not for the night, when he caught sight of a grayish patch in a clump of low spruces about a hundred yards distant. He was sure it had moved while he was looking. His heart beat violently as he gave a low whistle to attract Baranov's attention.

The guide's eye no sooner rested on the object than he sank as if he had been shot. The boys did the same, and cautiously crawled to his side.

"Slip a cartridge into that rifle quick," he whispered to Fred. "That's old Silver Tip, sure, an' ef we work it jest right, we can drop him. Naow don't you move for five minutes. Before long, you'll see him start this way. When he gets up to that rock over thar between them two leetle spruces, Tom, you let drive. Don't you fire, Fred, till Tom gets another cartridge in. An' ef you miss him, run fer your lives."

Before the boys could ask where he was going or what his plans were, the old hunter had disappeared in the undergrowth, taking his ax with him.

The wind was blowing freshly from Bruin toward them. In the course of a few minutes, which seemed hours, they saw the animal push his snout out from the boughs and sniff the air curiously. There was a strange scent, he thought, lingering about this mountain-top. What could it be?

Whatever its nature, it evidently acted like the reverse end of the magnet to the shaggy beast; for after a moment's uneasy moving about, he started off in a line which would carry him very near the ambushed hunters.

On he came, crashing through the boughs and clambering nimbly over mossy bowlders.

Fred could feel that his companion was trembling from head to foot from excitement.

"Rest over that twig, Tom," he whispered in his ear. "You can't get a shot if you don't."

The two spruces were reached. Bang! slam! went two rifles; for forgetting Solomon's injunction, Fred pulled the trigger almost at the same instant with Tom.

"Hooray!" shouted a welcome voice in the direction from which the bear had come. "You've done it, boys! Wait till I come before you go near him!"

With arms and legs flying like a windmill, and ax ready, Solomon came floundering along the bear's track.

"Dropped him, fust shot!" he called out again. "He's dead, sure enough-look out!" For at that very moment the bear struggled to his feet and made a mad rush toward his assailants.

Fred had thrown down his rifle at Solomon's last shout, but Tom had the presence of mind to level his reloaded piece and fire. Then he turned to run, but Bruin, making one last plunge, threw out his big paw.

Tom felt a sensation like a shovelful of red-hot coals dropped down his right boot-leg, and with a howl of pain and fright, tumbled headlong.

Had not Solomon reached the scene at that very moment with his ax, this story might have had a sad ending. One mighty sweep of that terrible weapon, and the battle was finished.

"Are ye hurt, boy?" cried the hunter. "Your last shot did the business, but I had to kinder second the motion. Whar are ye?"

Tom sat up straight, shouted: "Here I am! Hurrah!" and with a very queer feeling in his head, rolled over on the moss.

When he came to himself, the first thing he saw was Solomon bending over him, chafing his hands and trying to force some kind of hot liquor down his throat. There was the tinkling of a tiny stream somewhere among the moss close by, and a big Douglas fir stretched its boughs overhead.

"Where-where are we?" he stammered, trying to rise.

"Naow don't ye go to rushin' raound," counseled Baranov. "I've lugged ye off a piece to a first-rate leetle campin' graound, an' all you've got to do is to lay still whar ye be, while Fred an' I fix things a leetle."

"Is the bear"-began Tom, trying to remember, and wondering what made his head swim.

"He's right whar we left him, an' thar he'll stay I reckon, till we get ready to borrer his coat. Got some kindling, Fred?"

"Here you are!" called that genteel young man, staggering up with an armful of dry boughs. His hands were covered with pitch and his eyeglasses dangled from the cord.

"Halloo, you scarred old veteran, you!" he cried, dropping on his knees beside Tom. "Feeling better? What a clip he did give you!"

Tom, beginning to feel conscious of a score or two of bees stinging his right leg, looked down at that member, and was surprised to find his boot was removed and its place supplied by bandages.

"You won't be lame more'n a few days," said Baranov consolingly. "He only jest raked you with his claws. But the bleeding made ye faint, most likely. You're all right naow."

It was very pleasant lying there and watching the other two in their preparations for the night. A roaring fire was kindled, and although the sun was still high, the warmth of the red flames was by no means unwelcome.

Slash, slash! went Solomon's keen ax, and tree after tree came swishing down before its strokes. Some of them he trimmed with a dozen clips to each, and bade Fred carry the boughs into camp. As if by magic a framework of crotched sticks, props and rafters grew under the sheltering fir, boughs were piled on and across them, and by six o'clock there was a snug brush camp ready for occupancy, with a bed of fragrant fir boughs two feet deep. Then came the firewood-larger trees, felled and cut into six-foot lengths.

When a good pile of these had been provided, and not before, Solomon drove his ax into the trunk of the fir, pulled on his coat, and sitting down on a small log which, running across the front of the camp formed a sort of seat and threshold to it, opened his bag and drew out a black coffee-pot. This being placed on the fire, he started off for the scene of the late battle.

"I 'low we'll have a good b'ar steak to-night," he said, as he went. "I'll be back in a minute."

While he is preparing supper for the two tired and hungry boys, we will return to the gentler portion of the family, and follow the Queen northward on its voyage.

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