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Copple's horse, startled by my shot, began to snort and plunge. "Good shot," yelled Copple. "He's our meat." What possessed me I knew not, but I ran ahead of Copple. My eyes searched avidly the bush-dotted ground for my quarry. The rifle felt hot in my tight grip. All inside me was a tumult eager, keen, wild excitement.
They were solicitous, and when I explained my condition they made light of that, and showed relief that I was not ill. "Saw wood an' rustle around," said Haught. And Copple said: "He needs venison an' bear meat." They rode back with us up to the wagons. Copple had been a freighter. He picked out a way to drive down into the canyon.
We were still high up, though when we gazed aloft at the rim we felt so far down, and the slopes were steep, stony, soft in places and slippery in others, with deep cuts and patches of manzanita. No stranger was I to this beautiful treacherous Spanish brush! I shared with Copple a dislike of it almost equal to that inspired by cactus. We soon were hot, dusty, dry, and had begun to sweat.
He kept calling, and as they neared him on all sides he felt something more than the zest of hunting. Suddenly Copple began to shoot. Spang! Spang! Spang! R.C. saw the dust fly under one turkey. He heard the bullet glance. The next shot killed a turkey. Then R.C. yelled that he was no turkey! Then of that scattering flock he managed to knock over one for himself.
Copple had a nice taste in poetry, but somehow Clara, in after-reading, skipped those poems that he had read aloud to her. On several occasions she knew that a declaration was imminent. She extricated herself with a feeling of unspeakable relief. It would not be a simple matter to refuse him.
We all heard him shoot eight times with his rifle and two with his revolver. Everybody said: "Turkeys! Ten turkeys maybe a dozen, if Copple got two in line!" And we were all glad to think so. We watched eagerly for him, but he did not return till dark. He seemed vastly sore at himself. What a remarkable hard luck story he told!
Clara's mother was dead. She was the only child at home, and kept house for her father. "I suppose you are all ready for the lawn-tennis match this afternoon?" said Mr. Leeds to his daughter. "Mr. Copple said you were going to play with him. My! that young man is up to date. Think of a preacher getting up a lawn-tennis club!
Copple circled his mouth with his hands and bellowed to the Haughts: "Climb! Climb! Hurry! Hurry! He's just above you under that bluff." The Haughts heard, and evidently tried to do all in their power, but they moved like snails.
They did not know what to do. Manifestly with trappers in a locality there could be no more bear chasing. Disappointment perched upon the countenances of the Haughts and Copple and Nielsen. I let them all have their say. Finally Haught spoke up: "Wal, fellars, I'm figgerin' hard an' I reckon here's my stand. We jest naturally have to get Doc an' his brother a bear apiece.
How like snails they climbed! Theirs was indeed a task. A yell pealed out now and then, and though it seemed to come from an entirely different direction it surely must have come from the Haughts. Presently some one high on the rim answered with like yells. The chase was growing hotter. "They've got a bear up somewhere," cried Copple, excitedly. And I agreed with him.
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