Mrs. Atlay, wife of a late Bishop of Hereford, dreamed one night that there was a pig in the dining-room of the palace. She came downstairs, and in the hall told her governess and children of the dream, before family prayers. When these were ... Read more of The Pig In The Dining-room at Scary Stories.caInformational Site Network Informational
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Big Reuben's Raid








From: The Boys Of Crawford's Basin

"Wake up, boys! Wake up! Tumble out, there! Quick! Big Reuben's into the
pig-pen again!"

Our bedroom door was banged wide open, and my father stood before us--a
startling apparition--dressed only in his night-shirt and a pair of
boots, carrying a stable-lantern in one hand and a rifle in the other.

"What is it?" cried Joe, as he bounced out of bed; and, "Where is it?"
cried I, both of us half dazed by the sudden awakening.

"It's Big Reuben raiding the pig-pen again! Can't you hear 'em
squealing? Come on at once! Bring the eight-bore, Joe; and you, Phil,
get the torch and the revolver. Quick; or he'll kill every hog in the
pen!"

Big Reuben was not a two-legged thief, as one might suppose from his
name. He was a grizzly bear, a notorious old criminal, who, for the past
two or three years, had done much harm to the ranchmen of our
neighborhood, killing calves and colts and pigs--especially pigs.

Like a robber-baron of old, he laid tribute on the whole community,
raiding all the ranches in turn, traveling great distances during the
night, but always retreating to his lair among the rocks before morning.
This had gone on for a long time, when one day, in broad daylight, while
Ole Johnson, the Swede, was plowing his upper potato-patch, the grizzly
jumped down from a ledge of rocks and with one blow of his paw broke the
back of Ole's best work-steer; Ole himself, frightened half to death,
flying for refuge to his stable, where he shut himself up in the
hay-loft for the rest of the day.

This outrage had the effect of waking up the county commissioners, who,
understanding at last that we had been terrorized long enough, now
offered a reward of one hundred dollars for bruin's scalp--an offer
which stimulated all the hunters round about to run the marauder to his
lair.

But Big Reuben was as crafty as he was bold. His home was up in one of
the rocky gorges of Mount Lincoln to the west of us, where it would be
useless to try to trail him; and after Jed Smith had been almost torn to
pieces, and his partner, Baldy Atkins, had spent two nights and a day up
a tree, the enthusiasm of the hunters had suddenly waned and Big
Reuben's closer acquaintance had been shunned by all alike. Thereafter,
the bear had continued his depredations unchecked.

Among his many other pieces of mischief, he had killed a valuable calf
for us once, once before he had raided the pig-pen, and now here he was
again.

Without waiting to put on any extra clothing, Joe and I followed my
father through the kitchen, I grabbing a revolver from its nail in the
wall, and Joe snatching down the great eight-bore duck-gun and slipping
into it two cartridges prepared for this very contingency, each
cartridge containing twelve buck-shot and a big spherical bullet--a
terrific charge for close quarters. Once outside the kitchen-door, I ran
to the wood-shed and seized the torch which, like the cartridges, had
been made ready for this emergency. It consisted of a broom-handle with
a great wad of waste, soaked in kerosene, bound with wire to one end of
it.

Lighting the torch, I held it high and followed two paces behind the
others as they advanced towards the pig-pen. We had not progressed
twenty yards, however--luckily for us, as it turned out--when there
issued through the roof of the pen a great dark body, dimly seen by the
light of the torch.

"There he is!" cried my father, as the bear dropped out of sight behind
the corral fence. "Look out, now! We'll get a shot at him as he runs up
the hill!"

But Big Reuben had no intention whatever of running up the hill; he
feared neither man nor beast, and the next moment he appeared round the
corner of the corral, charging full upon us, open-mouthed.

With a single impulse, we all fired one shot at him and then turned and
fled, helter-skelter, for the kitchen, all tumbling in together,
treading on each others' heels; my father slamming behind us the door,
which fortunately opened outward.

The kitchen was a slight frame structure, built on to the back of the
house as a T-shaped addition. We were barely inside when bang! came a
heavy body against the door, with such force as to send several
milk-pans clashing to the floor.

My father had hastily loaded again, and now, hearing the bear's paws
patting high up on the door, he fired a chance shot through it. The bear
was hit, seemingly, for we heard him grunt; but that he was not killed
by any means was evident, for the next moment, with a clattering crash,
the kitchen window, glass, frame and all, was knocked into the room, and
a great hairy arm and fierce, grinning head were thrust through the gap.

Joe, who was standing just opposite the window, jumped backward, and
catching his heels against the great tub wherein the week's wash was
soaking, he sat down in it with a splash. Seeing this, I sprang forward
and thrust my torch into the bear's face; upon which he dropped to the
ground again. A half-second later, Joe, still sitting in the tub, fired
his second barrel. It was a good shot, but just a trifle too late, and
its only effect was to blow my torch to shreds, leaving us with the dim
light of the lantern only.

"Into the house!" shouted my father; whereupon we all retreated from the
kitchen into the main building. There, while Joe held the door partly
open and I held the lantern so as to throw a light into the kitchen, my
father knelt upon the floor waiting for the bear to give him another
chance. But Big Reuben was much too clever to do anything of the sort;
he was not going to put himself into any such trap as that; and
presently my mother from up-stairs called out that she could see him
going off.

We waited about for half an hour, but as there was no more disturbance
we all went back to bed, where for another half-hour Joe and I lay
talking, unable, naturally, to go to sleep at once after such a lively
stirring-up.

By sunrise next morning we were all out to see what damage had been
done. The bear had torn a great hole in the roof of the pen, had jumped
in and had killed and partly eaten one pig, choosing, as a bear of his
sagacity naturally would, the best one. We were fortunate, though, to
have come off so cheaply; doubtless the light of our torch shining
through the chinks of the logs had disturbed him.

If there had been any question as to the marauder's identity, that was
settled at once. His tracks were plain in the dust, and as one of his
hind feet showed no marks of claws, we knew it was Big Reuben; for Big
Reuben had once been caught in a trap and had only freed himself by
leaving his toe-nails behind him.

Outside the kitchen door and window the tracks were very plain; there
was also a good deal of blood, showing that he had been hit at least
once. But it was evident also that he had not been hurt very seriously,
for there was no irregularity in his trail--no swaying from side to
side, as from weakness--though we followed it up to the point where, at
the upper end of our valley, the bear had climbed the cliff which
bounded the Second Mesa. Though on this occasion he had thought fit to
run away, there was little doubt but that he would live to fight another
day.

"Father," said I, as we sat together at breakfast, "may Joe and I go and
trail him up? If he keeps on bleeding it ought to be easy, and it is
just possible that we might find him dead."

My father at first shook his head, but presently, reconsidering, he
replied: "Well, you may go; but you must go on your ponies: it's too
dangerous to go a-foot. And in any case, if the trail leads you up to
the loose rocks or into the big timber you must stop. You know what a
tricky beast Big Reuben is. If he sees that he is followed he will lie
in hiding and jump out on you. That's how he caught Jed Smith, you
remember."

"We'll take care, father," said I. "We'll stick to our ponies, and then
we shall be all safe."

"Very well, then; be off with you."

With this permission we set off, I carrying a rifle and Joe his "old
cannon," as he called the big shotgun; each with a crust of bread and a
slice or two of bacon in his pocket by way of lunch. Picking up the
trail where we had left it at the foot of the Second Mesa, we scrambled
up the little cliff, looking out very sharply lest Big Reuben should be
lying in wait for us in some crevice, and finding that the tracks led
straight away for Mount Lincoln, we followed them, I doing the tracking
while Joe kept watch ahead. The surface of the Second Mesa was very
uneven: there were many little rocky hills and many small canyons, some
of the latter as much as a hundred feet deep, so, keeping in mind the
bear's crafty nature, whenever the trail led us near any of these
obstacles I would stand still while Joe examined the canyon or the rocks,
as the case might be.

Every time we did this, however, we drew a blank. The trail continued to
lead straight away for the mountain without diverging to one side or the
other, and for five or six miles we followed it until the stunted cedars
began to give place to pine trees, when we decided that we might as well
stop, especially as for some time past there had ceased to be any
blood-marks on the stones and we had been following only the occasional
imprint of the bear's paws in the patches of sand.

"The trail is headed straight for that rocky gorge, Phil," said my
companion, pointing forward, "and it's no use going on. Even if your
father hadn't forbidden it, I wouldn't go into that gorge, knowing that
Big Reuben was in there somewhere, not if the county commissioners
should offer me the whole county as a reward."

"Nor I, either," said I. "Big Reuben may have his mountain all to
himself as far as I'm concerned. So, come on; let's get back. What time
is it?"

"After noon," replied Joe, looking up at the sun. "We've been a long
time coming, but it won't take us more than half the time going back.
Let's dig out at once."

Turning our ponies, we set off at an easy lope, and had ridden about two
miles on the back track when, skirting along the edge of one of the
little canyons I have mentioned, we noticed a tiny spring of water,
which, issuing from the face of the cliff close to the top, fell in a
thin thread into the chasm.

"Joe," said I, "let's stop here and eat our lunch. I'm getting pretty
hungry."

"All right," said Joe; and in another minute we were seated on the edge
of the cliff with our feet dangling in space, munching our bread and
bacon, while the ponies, with the reins hanging loose, were cropping the
scanty grass just behind us.

About five feet below where we sat was a little ledge some eighteen
inches wide, which, on our left, gradually sloped upward until it came
to the top, while in the other direction it sloped downward, diminishing
in width until it "petered out" entirely. The little spring fell upon
this ledge, and running along it, fell off again at its lower end. As
the best place to fill our tin cup was where the water struck the ledge,
we, when we had finished our lunch, walked down to that point.

Filling the cup, I was in the act of handing it to Joe, who was behind
me, when a sudden clatter of hoofs caused us to straighten up. Our eyes
came just above the level of the cliff, and the first thing they
encountered was Big Reuben himself, not ten feet away, coming straight
for us at a run!

"Duck!" yelled Joe; and down we went--only just in time, too, for the
bear's great claws rattled on the surface of the rock as he made a slap
at us.

Where had he come from? Had he followed us back from the mountain?
Hardly: we had come too quickly. Had he seen us coming in the early
morning, and, making a circuit out of our sight, lain in wait for us as
we returned? Such uncanny cleverness seemed hardly possible, even for
Big Reuben, clever as he was known to be.

These questions, however, did not occur to us at the moment. All that
concerned us just then was that there was Big Reuben, looking down at us
from the edge of the cliff.

There was no doubt that it was the same bear we had interviewed in the
night, for all the hair on one side of his face was singed off where I
had thrust at him with the torch, while one of his ears was tattered and
bloody, showing that some of Joe's buck-shot, at least, had got him as
he dropped from the window.

Joe and I were on our hands and knees, when the bear, going down upon
his chest, reached for us with one of his paws. He could not quite touch
us, but he came so uncomfortably close that we crept away down the
ledge, which, dipping pretty sharply, soon put us out of his reach
altogether.

Seeing this, the bear rose to his feet again, gazed at us for a moment,
and then stepped back out of sight.

"Has he gone?" I whispered; but before Joe could answer Big Reuben
appeared again, walking down the ledge towards us. Of course we sidled
away from him, until the ledge had become so narrow that I could go no
farther; and lucky it was for us that the ledge was narrow, for what
was standing-room for us was by no means standing-room for the bear: his
body was much too thick to allow him to come near us, or even to
approach the spot whence we had just retreated.

As it was obvious that the bear could advance no farther, for he was
standing on the very edge of the ledge and there was a bulge in the rock
before him which would inevitably have pushed him off into the chasm had
he attempted to pass it, Joe and I returned to the spring, where we had
room to stand or to sit down as we wished.

The enemy watched our approach, with a glint of malice in his little
piggy eyes, but when he saw that we intended to come no nearer, he lay
down where he was and began unconcernedly licking his paws.

"He thinks he can starve us out," said Joe; "but if I'm not mistaken we
can stand it longer than he can, even if he did eat half a pig last
night. And there's one thing certain, Phil: if we don't get home
to-night, somebody will come to look for us in the morning."

"Yes," I assented. "But they'll get a pretty bad scare at home if we
don't turn up. Is there no way of sending that beast off? If we could
only get hold of one of the guns----"

By standing upright we could see my rifle lying on the ground and Joe's
big gun standing with its muzzle pointed skyward, leaning against a
boulder. They were only six feet away, but six feet were six feet: we
could not reach them without climbing up, and that was out of the
question--the bear could get there much more quickly than we could.

"Phil!" exclaimed my companion, suddenly. "Have you got any twine in
your pocket?"

"Yes," I replied, pulling out a long, stout piece of string. "Why?"

"Perhaps we can 'rope' my gun. See, its muzzle stands clear. Then we
could drag it within reach."

I very soon had a noose made, and being the more expert roper of the two
I swung it round and round my head, keeping the loop wide open, and
threw it. My very first cast was successful. The noose fell over the
muzzle of the gun and settled half way down the barrel, where it was
stopped by the rock.

"Good!" whispered Joe. "Now, tighten it up gently and pull the gun
over."

I followed these directions, and presently we heard the gun fall with a
clatter upon the rocks; for, fearing it might go off when it fell, we
had both ducked below the rim of the wall.

Our actions had made the bear suspicious, and when the gun came
clattering down he rose upon his hind feet and looked about him. Seeing
nothing moving, however, he came down again, when I at once began to
pull the gun gently towards me, keeping my head down all the time lest
one of the hammers, catching against a rock, should explode the charge.

At length, thinking it should be near enough, I ceased pulling, when Joe
straightened up, reached out, and, to my great delight, when he withdrew
his hand the gun was in it.

Ah! What a difference it made in our situation!

Joe, first opening the breach to make sure the gun was loaded, advanced
as near the bear as he dared, and kneeling down took careful aim at his
chest. But presently he lowered the gun again, and turning to me, said:

"Phil, can you do anything to make him turn his head so that I can get a
chance at him behind the ear? I'm afraid a shot in front may only wound
him."

"All right," said I. "I'll try."

With my knife I pried out of the face of the cliff a piece of stone
about the size and shape of the palm of my hand, and aiming carefully I
threw it at the bear. It struck him on the very point of his nose--a
tender spot--and seemingly hurt him a good deal, for, with an angry
snarl, he rose upright on his hind feet.

At that instant a terrific report resounded up and down the canyon, the
whole charge of Joe's ponderous weapon struck the bear full in the
chest--I could see the hole it made--and without a sound the great beast
dropped from the ledge, fell a hundred feet upon the rocks below,
bounded two or three times and then lay still, all doubled up in a heap
at the bottom.

Big Reuben had killed his last pig!





Next: Crawford's Basin

Previous: Conclusion



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