Glengarry Schooldays [60]
the sound of a far-away shot in his ears, and darkness veiling his eyes.
He was awakened by Don's voice anxiously calling him.
"Are you hurt much, Hughie? Did he squeeze you?"
Hughie sat up, blinking stupidly.
"What?" he asked. "Who?"
"Why, the bear, of course."
"The bear? No. Man! It's too bad you weren't here, Don," he went on, rousing himself. "He can't be gone far."
"Not very," said Don, laughing loud. "Yonder he lies."
Hughie turned his head and gazed, wondering, at the great black mass over which Don's black dogs were standing guard, and sniffing with supreme satisfaction.
Then all came back to him.
"Where's Fido?" he asked, rising. "Yes, it was Fido saved me, for sure. He tackled the bear every time he rushed at me, and hung onto him just as I climbed the tree the second time."
As he spoke he walked over to the place where he had last seen the dog. A little farther on, behind a spruce-tree, they found poor Fido, horribly mangled and dead.
Hughie stooped down over him. "Poor old boy, poor old Fido," he said, in a low voice, stroking his head.
Don turned away and walked whistling toward the bear. As he sat beside the black carcass his two dogs came to him. He threw his arms round them, saying, "Poor old Blackie! Poor Nigger!" and he understood how Hughie was feeling behind the spruce-tree beside the faithful dog that had given him his life.
As he sat there waiting for Hughie, he heard voices.
"Horo!" he shouted.
"Where are you? Is that you, Don?" It was his father's voice.
"Yes, here we are."
"Is Hughie there?" inquired another voice.
"Losh me! that's the minister," said Don. "Yes, all right," he cried aloud, as up came Long John Cameron and the minister, with Fusie and a stranger bringing up the rear.
"Fine work, this. You're fine fellows, indeed," cried Long John, "frightening people in this way."
"Where is Hughie?" said the minister, sternly.
Hughie came from behind the brush, hurriedly wiping his eyes. "Here, father," he said.
"And what are you doing here at this hour of the night, pray?" said the minister, angrily, turning toward him.
"I couldn't get home very well," replied Hughie.
"And why not, pray? Don't begin any excuses with me, sir." Nothing annoyed the minister as an attempt to excuse ill-doing.
"I guess he would have been glad enough to have got home half an hour ago, sir," broke in Don, laughing. "Look there." He pointed to the bear lying dead, with Nigger standing over him.
"The Lord save us!" said Long John Cameron, himself the greatest among the hunters of the county. "What do you say? And how did you get him? Jee-ru-piter! he's a grand one."
The old man, the minister, and Don walked about the bear in admiring procession.
"Yon's a terrible gash," said Long John, pointing to a gaping wound in the breast. "Was that your Snider, Don?"
"Not a bit of it, father. The bear's Hughie's. He killed him himself."
"Losh me! And you don't tell me! And how did you manage that, Hughie?"
"He chased me up that tree, and I guess would have got me only for Fido."
The minister gasped.
"Got you? Was he as near as that?"
"He wasn't three feet away," said Hughie, and with that he proceeded to give, in his most graphic style, a description of his great fight with the bear.
"When I heard the first shot," said Don, "I was away across the swamp. I tell you I tore back here, and when I came, what did I see but Hughie and Mr. Bear both sitting down and looking coolly at each other a few yards apart. And then Nigger downed him and I put a bullet into his heart." Don was greatly delighted, and extremely proud of Hughie's achievement.
"And how did you know about it?" asked Don of his father.
"It was the minister here came after me."
"Yes," said the minister, "it was Fusie told me you had gone off on a bear hunt, and so I went along to the Cameron's with Mr. Craven here, to see if you had got home."
Meantime, Mr. Craven had been looking Hughie over.
"Mighty plucky thing," he said.
He was awakened by Don's voice anxiously calling him.
"Are you hurt much, Hughie? Did he squeeze you?"
Hughie sat up, blinking stupidly.
"What?" he asked. "Who?"
"Why, the bear, of course."
"The bear? No. Man! It's too bad you weren't here, Don," he went on, rousing himself. "He can't be gone far."
"Not very," said Don, laughing loud. "Yonder he lies."
Hughie turned his head and gazed, wondering, at the great black mass over which Don's black dogs were standing guard, and sniffing with supreme satisfaction.
Then all came back to him.
"Where's Fido?" he asked, rising. "Yes, it was Fido saved me, for sure. He tackled the bear every time he rushed at me, and hung onto him just as I climbed the tree the second time."
As he spoke he walked over to the place where he had last seen the dog. A little farther on, behind a spruce-tree, they found poor Fido, horribly mangled and dead.
Hughie stooped down over him. "Poor old boy, poor old Fido," he said, in a low voice, stroking his head.
Don turned away and walked whistling toward the bear. As he sat beside the black carcass his two dogs came to him. He threw his arms round them, saying, "Poor old Blackie! Poor Nigger!" and he understood how Hughie was feeling behind the spruce-tree beside the faithful dog that had given him his life.
As he sat there waiting for Hughie, he heard voices.
"Horo!" he shouted.
"Where are you? Is that you, Don?" It was his father's voice.
"Yes, here we are."
"Is Hughie there?" inquired another voice.
"Losh me! that's the minister," said Don. "Yes, all right," he cried aloud, as up came Long John Cameron and the minister, with Fusie and a stranger bringing up the rear.
"Fine work, this. You're fine fellows, indeed," cried Long John, "frightening people in this way."
"Where is Hughie?" said the minister, sternly.
Hughie came from behind the brush, hurriedly wiping his eyes. "Here, father," he said.
"And what are you doing here at this hour of the night, pray?" said the minister, angrily, turning toward him.
"I couldn't get home very well," replied Hughie.
"And why not, pray? Don't begin any excuses with me, sir." Nothing annoyed the minister as an attempt to excuse ill-doing.
"I guess he would have been glad enough to have got home half an hour ago, sir," broke in Don, laughing. "Look there." He pointed to the bear lying dead, with Nigger standing over him.
"The Lord save us!" said Long John Cameron, himself the greatest among the hunters of the county. "What do you say? And how did you get him? Jee-ru-piter! he's a grand one."
The old man, the minister, and Don walked about the bear in admiring procession.
"Yon's a terrible gash," said Long John, pointing to a gaping wound in the breast. "Was that your Snider, Don?"
"Not a bit of it, father. The bear's Hughie's. He killed him himself."
"Losh me! And you don't tell me! And how did you manage that, Hughie?"
"He chased me up that tree, and I guess would have got me only for Fido."
The minister gasped.
"Got you? Was he as near as that?"
"He wasn't three feet away," said Hughie, and with that he proceeded to give, in his most graphic style, a description of his great fight with the bear.
"When I heard the first shot," said Don, "I was away across the swamp. I tell you I tore back here, and when I came, what did I see but Hughie and Mr. Bear both sitting down and looking coolly at each other a few yards apart. And then Nigger downed him and I put a bullet into his heart." Don was greatly delighted, and extremely proud of Hughie's achievement.
"And how did you know about it?" asked Don of his father.
"It was the minister here came after me."
"Yes," said the minister, "it was Fusie told me you had gone off on a bear hunt, and so I went along to the Cameron's with Mr. Craven here, to see if you had got home."
Meantime, Mr. Craven had been looking Hughie over.
"Mighty plucky thing," he said.