Boris the Bear-Hunter, Page 2

  CHAPTER II.BORIS FINDS A NEW FRIEND.

  Boris was so exhausted with the long chase that he had hardlysufficient strength to reach the weapon and turn it against his furiouspursuer. To do this he must gain ground upon the bear, which was at theinstant so close behind that he could have kicked it with his heel.Summoning therefore all the energy of which he was still master, thehunted hunter filled his lungs to the full, and started to run thefastest hundred yards that he had ever covered. So swiftly did he flyover the ground that he was some twenty-five good paces in front of thebear when his hands closed upon his faithful spear, and he knew that,for the moment at least, he was saved, and that if only his strengthdid not fail him he should now hold his own and perhaps a little morewhen Bruin came to close quarters.

  Twisting round with the rapidity of a spindle, Boris felt for a steadyfoothold for both of his feet, found it, poised his long steel-tippedwooden spear, took a long, deep breath, set his teeth, and in a momentthe struggle had commenced. The bear, slightly rising on his hindlegs to seize and hug his foe, threw himself with a loud roar of rageupon Boris, impaling himself as he did so upon the cruel point of thespear. This was a critical moment. Strong as he was, and firmly ashe had taken his stand, the shock of the huge brute's rush all butknocked poor weary Boris off his legs and nearly tore his muscular armsfrom their sockets. The bear, mad with pain and rage, pressed in itsfury upon the stout spear, and bit and tore at the good oak until thesplinters flew and the whole spear shook and trembled in the hunter'sgrasp.

  Breathless and weary as he was, Boris nevertheless held his own, andfor some time budged not an inch.

  There is a limit, however, to the powers of the hardest muscles and ofthe stoutest hearts, and the present tension was more than the bravestand the strongest could support for any length of time. Boris wasevidently tiring. Had he been fresh when this great wrestling matchbegan, he would long since have made an irresistible rush, pushedthe monster over backwards, and despatched him with repeated digs ofthe spear, as he had many a time treated bears before. But Boris wasweary with his long struggle. He could not hold on much longer, but indesperation he still clung to his quivering spear, and pushed with allhis might and determination against his giant enemy.

  And now his head began to swim, and his eyes grew hot and dimmed,and there was a sound in his ears as of waters that rushed in andoverwhelmed him. Still his senses did not desert him, nor his nerve.As he became conscious that his strength was failing him he becamethe more determined to hold out, and with a hoarse shout of defiancehe pulled himself together for one supreme effort. His failing graspclutched tighter at the shaft; his stiff and aching feet plantedthemselves yet more firmly in their grip of the foothold from whichthey had not budged by a hair's-breadth; his tightened musclestightened themselves yet more as he bore upon the shaft, and forced itby sheer strength of will a couple of inches further towards victory.The bear tottered, his eyes rolled and his tongue showed between histeeth, and for a moment it seemed that Boris had won the battle. Nowit is anybody's game! For an instant and another neither bear norman has the advantage. Then the bear rallies. Growling, sputtering,roaring, the monster slowly recovers his lost ground, then gainsan inch, and another. Boris feels faint and dizzy; his strength isfailing, his grasp relaxing. Still he fights on; but it is useless now.His brave feet, that have held their own so long, give way; his musclestoo, they have made a good fight, but they cannot hold out longer--theyare relaxing; his fingers are loosening their hold upon the shaft; hiseyes are so dim now that they cannot see the monster who is fallingupon him to slay him; he is vanquished, he is giving ground rapidly;in another instant he will fall, and die. The bear will die too, ofcourse; that thought will be his dying consolation.

  A shout of encouragement behind him, and the sound of rushingfeet! "Hold tight there just one minute more!" somebody cries; andautomatically the stiffened fingers tighten themselves, and the feetgrip the ground. Then a fresh hand grasps the shaft; two powerful feetplant themselves in the place where the failing ones have stood; and asthe wearied and vanquished Boris falls fainting to the earth, the newarrival bears upon that stout staff with a force which even the mightybear cannot withstand.

  Back goes the bear by inches--now he is tottering--another shout and anirresistible rush forwards, and he is down, fighting and tearing to thelast as a bold king of the forest should.

  One more dig into the dying monster, a kick upon the prostrate carcasswith the long, heavy Russian boot, and then the stranger turns tolook after poor Boris. But first he wipes his hands upon a tuft ofpurple-fruited bilberry leaves, and from an inner pocket of hissomewhat rich-looking _kaftan_, or tunic, he produces a silver-tippedflagon of Russian spirits. This he puts to the lips of Boris, who soonrevives under the treatment, and sits up, dazed, to stare around withhis hand to his eyes. First he fixes a long look upon the prostratebear and the spear lying beside it; then he catches sight of thestranger, and stares long and fixedly at him. At last he says, "Are youSt. Boris come to save me in answer to my call?"

  The stranger burst into a loud, jovial guffaw.

  "Bless your heart," he shouted, "I'm not a saint! Very far from it, I'mafraid. I'm only a man, like yourself."

  "A man indeed!" said Boris; "and such a man as I have not seen thelikeness of--well, since I last looked in the looking-glass!"

  Boris made this remark in perfectly good faith, and without theslightest intention of paying himself a compliment. He knew well enoughthat he was by many degrees the strongest and finest-looking man inthe country side, and by comparing the stranger with himself he merelyoffered honest testimony to the magnificent appearance of the latter.Nor was his admiration misplaced, for a finer-looking young fellowthan he who now bent over Boris was rarely seen. Scarcely more thana boy--he was about the same age as Boris himself--the stranger wastall and robust, and straight as a young pine; taller than Boris, andbroader too, though not more athletic-looking. His face was handsomeand powerful, and his black hair curled in masses over a wide foreheadand bold, rather cruel eyes. Boris gazed in admiration at thismagnificent specimen of humanity--it was a new sensation to him to seeany one physically superior to himself.

  "You made a good fight," said the stranger, guffawing once more overthe last speech of Boris; "but though you seem to have a fairly goodopinion of yourself, that bear would have been lying on the top of youby this time if I had not come up in the nick of time. I watched thefight for some minutes. You have pluck, I am pleased to observe. Whatis your name?"

  "Boris the Bear-Hunter," replied that worthy.

  "Ha, ha! Boris the Bear-_Hunted_, you mean," laughed the stranger."Well, I should like to know more of you, if you will. Come and see meto-morrow morning at Archangel, and we'll have a chat."

  "Very well, _barin_" (gentleman), said Boris, feeling, in spite of hisown usually defiant independence of spirit, that here was one who mustof necessity command and be obeyed; "for I see you are a barin by yourkaftan. What are you called, and where shall I seek you?"

  "Petka, and sometimes Petrushka, is my name," said the big youth; "andyou may ask for me at the burgomaster's house in the town. You willhear of me there till eleven to-morrow; after that I take ship for asail abroad. And now I will leave you and _mishka_[1] yonder to takecare of one another. Beware, while you skin him, that he doesn't jumpup and skin _you_. He may be shamming while I am here, you see; but hehas no cause to be afraid of you."

  With which gentle sarcasm and another jovial laugh the tall youthdeparted, leaving Boris to reflect upon the extreme good fortune whichhad sent him the right man at the right moment to extract him from thetightest fix he had ever succeeded in getting himself into during thewhole course of his nineteen summers.

  FOOTNOTE:

  [1] _Mishka_ is the familiar Russian name for a bear.