(By J.W.B. Laing)

Spotted Horse could only stand and helplessly watch the large black bear drag his screaming four-year sister into the wilds. The distance between them was his enemy for the moment. Both bear and child out of sight, her screaming stopped.

Heart pounding, sweat stung his eyes and dripped from his chin, he knew he was heading in the right direction. Creeping through the tall grass and bent over, he followed the fresh trail, occasionally raising his head to look for the bear...he could almost smell it. The musky smell of sweat lingered…was it from the bear or his own? He doubted she’d still be alive when he found her, but now wasn’t the time to think about doubts.

The sun was at its zenith and Spotted Horse felt its relentless heat on his back. He pressed on with only one thought in mind and that was to find his little sister. Continuing to quietly creep through the thick grass, his rifle was loaded and at the ready. Hunted bears were unpredictable and sometimes liable to back track. Knowing this, he was aware that if he wasn't prepared, he could become the hunted one.

After what seemed like hours, he came to the lake with it's sparkling, blue water. Quickly quenching his thirst from its ice cold waters, he began to follow the bear’s tracks in the sandy shore surrounding the expanse of water. Pausing for a brief moment to rest, the thought of his sister in the clutches of that bear was too much, so he pressed on towards the scrub filled rocky ridge where the tracks were leading.

Experienced at hunting and tracking prey, Spotted Horse new all the tricks of the hunt. This bear, he knew well. It wouldn't eat its prey until after the heat of the day had passed. It was a huge bear and many had tried to track and kill it without success, but only he knew its habits. Even he had tried, and was the only one who ever got close enough to get a good shot at it. Something had always stopped him from squeezing the trigger. Maybe it was the sight of this magnificent creature standing there defiantly; free as the wind, as Mother Nature had intended it to be.

This time, however, it was going to be different. It had his only sister, and this time he'd kill it with one shot, no time for Mother Nature to stop him--nothing would deter him in his quest.

Climbing up the steep ridge was slow going, the razor sharp rocks sliced into his hands and knees, but he felt no pain, driven on by a single thought, could his sister possibly still be alive?

Atop the ridge, he came to the dense wood. From his experience, he knew they had to be there, in the shade, away from the blistering sun.

Tension mounting, he checked his rifle to make sure that it was cocked and ready for use in a split second. Slowly, he crept forward into the cool shade of the wood, crouching low and downwind from where he knew the bear would be.

Something abnormal was in the air. It was too quiet; not even a slight breeze stirred the hot air. Nothing was moving and the birds were unusually silent and nowhere in sight. The air was thick with the scent of thousands of wild flowers and the only sound was the occasional buzzing of bees flitting from wild flower to wild flower, filling their sacks with pollen. Slowly, he slowly looked behind him to see if the bear had backtracked--he was alone.

Carefully, he was watching his every step, making sure not to tread on a twig that would set off an alarm to his prey. His Cherokee father, Running Wolf, the chief of the tribe, had taught him well from the time when he was a young boy many years ago. Spotted Horse could run as fast as any deer and catch it with his bare hands, just for the sport, then always set it free. For many years he'd hunted with his father, but only for food when it was needed. He was taught to respect the wild life that sustained his tribe, and not kill just for the sake of killing. This was the ways of his tribe.

With his left foot in midair, something to his left caught his eye. He stood frozen, with only his head slowly moving just enough to catch the sight of a startled jackrabbit as it leapt from it's hiding place and silently disappear through the trees. He had to be more careful; he should have seen that jackrabbit--his aging father would have!

Slowly and silently, he lowered his poised foot to the soft ground. Sweat was running uncomfortably down his back and under his deerskin vest as he crept onward. The inherited sense of the hunt was telling him that he was closing in on the bear, but the silence was disturbing him. Still no birds could be seen or heard and that was telling him something was lurking near by; a shiver ran down his spine. Shaking off his fear, Spotted Horse continued with the hunt with grim determination. If the bear had killed the child, he'd roar in anger with his deep voice, the war cry of his tribe. He’d drop his rifle and charge at the bear without thought of his own safety, and kill it with his bowie knife. He’d skin it and take it's hide and his dead sister back to the Indian village and mourn with the rest of the tribe. The fact that he would have proven his manhood with the kill would be of small solace to him.

Realizing he was mentally working himself into a frenzy, Spotted Horse began to breathe slowly and deeply. His sister might still be alive, although he thought the chances were slim. Collecting his wits and thoughts, he resumed his expert tracking of the bear.

From the shade of the woods, he saw a clearing ahead. With a sudden feeling that he was in the presence of danger, he approached it cautiously. In the center of the clearing, he saw the monstrous bear that so many feared. It was lying down on its stomach with his sister, dwarfed beside the huge bulk of the bear, held between its giant forepaws. She appeared to be sleeping--or was she dead? Spotted Horse’s heart was pumping rapidly and he could hear its beat in the abnormal silence. He feared that the great bear must surely be able to hear the seemingly loud thumping of his heart in the hot, eerie silence around him.

Since he was down wind of the bear, he knew it couldn’t catch his scent. He'd have to rely on his skill and stealth to get closer to it; he couldn't shoot from where he was without endangering the child, just in case she was still alive. He slowly crawled through the long dried grass on his stomach, rifle in front of him, until he was about twenty paces from the bear. Spotted Horse raised his rifle, took careful aim and was about to fire when he heard that call. He froze. The bear had also heard it and raised its head, looking directly at him. It didn't move. No time to lose. He fired. The shot echoed throughout the woods and the massive bear rose to it's feet…....

"Billy. It's time for lunch. Come quickly and wash up." It was his mother calling. Young Billy ran to the ferocious beast and it licked his face in welcome as he put his arms around his good old companion, "Bear," the family's big black Newfoundland dog. Propping his toy rifle under his arm, he took his four-year old little sister's small hand, and the three of them strolled through the apple orchard, down the steps in the rock garden, past the fishpond and across the wide expanse of lawn to the house for lunch. It had been a very busy and adventurous morning for eight year old Billy.

Copyright JWBL 1993.

Back