“Whoa!” “whoa!” With quick jerks on their bridle reins Thure Conroyal and Bud Randolph pulled up their horses and listened shiveringly.

Again that same shrill whistling scream of dreadful agony and fear, that had caused them to rein up their horses so suddenly a moment before, came from the valley beyond the brow of the little hill up which they had been slowly riding, and chilled the very marrow in their bones with the terrible intensity of its fear and anguish. Then all was still.

“What what was it?” and Thure turned a startled face to Bud. “It didn’t sound human and I never heard an animal scream like that before. What can it be?”

“I don’t know,” Bud answered, his face whitening a little; “but I am going to find out. Come on,” and, swinging his rifle into position where it would be ready for instant use, he started up the hill, his eyes fixed in the direction whence had come those fearful screams.

“We’d better go a little slow, until we find out what it is,” cautioned Thure, as he quickly fell in by the side of Bud, his own rifle held ready for instant use. “It might be Indian devilment of some kind. You know dad’s last letter from the mines said that the Indians were getting ugly; and if it is hostile Indians, we want to see them first.”

“You bet we do,” was Bud’s emphatic rejoinder, as he again pulled up his horse. “Now, just hold Gray Cloud and I’ll scout on ahead and see what’s going on down there in the valley before we show ourselves,” and, sliding swiftly from Gray Cloud’s back, he tossed his bridle rein to Thure, and, rifle in hand, started swiftly and as silently as an Indian toward a thick clump of bushes that grew directly on the top of the little hill.

Thure deftly caught the bridle rein; and then sat silent and motionless on the back of his horse, his eyes on his comrade, waiting in tense expectancy for the moment when he would reach the clump of bushes and look down into the valley beyond and see the cause of those strange and terrible cries that had so suddenly and so fearfully startled them.

Bud, carrying his cocked rifle at trail, his form bent so that the least possible part of his body showed above the grass of the hillside, ran swiftly until he had almost reached the brow of the hill and the clump of bushes. Then, crouching closer to the ground, he crept cautiously and slowly to the bushes and, gently working himself into their midst, carefully parted the branches in front of his face until he had a clear view of the little valley below. At the first sight he uttered an exclamation of surprise and wrath and threw his rifle to his shoulder; but, with a regretful shake of his head, he almost instantly lowered the gun, and, turning quickly about, motioned excitedly for Thure to advance with the horses and started on the run to meet him.

“Indians! Is it Indians?” Thure cried anxiously, the moment Bud was at his side.

“No,” panted the boy, as he leaped into his saddle. “It’s El Feroz; and if I’ve got anything to say about it, he has made his last kill. Come on,” and his eyes glinted with wrath and excitement, as he dug his spurs into the flanks of Gray Cloud and galloped furiously up the hill.

“El Feroz! Bully!” and Thure, with an exultant yell, struck the spurs into his horse and galloped along by his side.

At the top of the hill both boys pulled up their horses and looked down into the valley. The valley was small, not more than half a mile across, and through its center ran a little stream of water, fringed with bushes and small trees. On the near side of this fringe of trees and bushes and only a short distance from where our two young friends sat on the backs of their horses, crouched a huge grizzly bear over the body of a horse that was still quivering in the death agony.

“The brute!” exclaimed Thure angrily, the moment his eyes had taken in this scene of violence. “So that was the death scream of a horse we heard! Well, I never want to hear another! But, we’ve got you now, you old villain!” and his eyes swept over the little valley, free, except for the fringe of trees and bushes, of all obstructions, exultingly. “If we let you get away from this, we’ll both deserve to be shot. Now,” and he turned to Bud, “you ride to the right and I’ll go to the left and we will have the brute between us, so that if he charges either of us, the other can take after him and shoot or rope him.”

“Good!” agreed Bud. “But, say, let’s rope him first. Just shooting is too good for El Feroz. Remember Manuel and Old Pedro, whom he killed, and Jim Bevins, whom he tore nearly to pieces and crippled for life, to say nothing of the cattle and the horses he has killed. And now that we have him where he can’t get away, I am for showing him that man is his master, strong and ferocious as he is, before killing him. We could not have picked out a better place for roping him, if we had been doing the picking,” and his eyes glanced over the smooth level of the little valley. “We’ll let him chase us until we get him away from the trees and bushes along the creek, and then we’ll have some fun with the big brute with our ropes, before sending him to Kingdom Come with our bullets. What do you say, Thure?”

“Well,” grinned Thure reminiscently, “if it don’t turn out better than did our attempt to rope a grizzly when I was with Fremont, I say shoot the grizzly first and rope him afterward. Now, it won’t be no joke roping El Feroz, even if everything is in our favor,” and his face sobered. “Still, I reckon, our horses can keep us at a safe distance from his ugly claws and teeth; and it will be all right to have a try with the ropes before we use bullets, but we’ve got to be careful. El Feroz is the largest and ugliest grizzly ever seen anywhere around here, and could kill one of our horses with one blow of his huge paw. Mexican Juan says that an Indian devil has taken possession of the big brute and that only a silver bullet blessed by a priest can kill him; and, in proof of his belief, he told me that he himself had shot five lead bullets at El Feroz and that he had heard the devil laugh when the bullets struck and fell hot and flattened to the ground. Now he always carries a silver bullet with him that he had a priest bless when he was down to San Francisco last fall; and the next time he meets El Feroz he expects to kill him with the holy bullet. He showed me the silver bullet,” and Thure laughed. “But I’m willing to put my trust in lead, if it hits the right spot, Indian devil or no devil. Now, look at El Feroz. He doesn’t seem to be worrying none over our presence. Appears to think the filling of his greedy belly too important an operation to be interrupted by us,” and Thure’s eyes turned to where the huge grizzly was tearing with teeth and claws the carcass of the horse, his wicked little eyes turned in their direction, but otherwise giving them not the slightest attention. Evidently El Feroz had only contempt for the puny prowess of man.

“Well, we’ll soon teach him better manners, the ugly brute! Come on,” and Bud Randolph and Thure Conroyal both started slowly toward the grizzly, loosening the strong ropes that hung from the pommels of their saddles as they rode.

There was no need of haste. El Feroz would not run away not from a good dinner like that he was now eating for all the men in California. For four years he had terrorized this part of California, had never once turned his back to a man, but had seen the backs of many men turned to him; and now the killing of the horse had aroused all the ferocity of his savage nature, and he was ready to fight anything and everything that threatened to rob him of his prey.

Thure Conroyal and Bud Randolph did not for a moment expect El Feroz to run, when they rode toward him. They knew grizzly nature, especially the ferocious nature of El Feroz, too well to dream of such a thing. They knew he would fight; and, if they had been afoot, they would not have dared to attack the evil monster, armed though they were with rifles and so skilful in their use that they could cut the head off a wild goose at a hundred yards. But, seated on the backs of their fleet and well-trained horses and on a smooth and open field like the one before them, they did not fear even El Feroz himself. If their ropes did not hold or their bullets kill at once, the swift legs of their horses could be counted on to keep them out of danger, unless some unforeseen mischance happened.

The lassoing or roping of grizzly bears was a sport often indulged in by the native Californians, who were among the most skilful horsemen in the world and marvelously expert with their lassos or reatas, as they called the long rope, usually made of hide or woven horsehair, which they used to catch their horses and cattle; and Thure Conroyal and Bud Randolph had become as expert as any native with their reatas, and, consequently, felt equal to the roping of even as ferocious and as huge a beast as El Feroz himself, the most dreaded grizzly in the California mountains.

Thure and Bud rode slowly toward the grizzly, one turning a little to the left and the other to the right as he advanced, so that when they drew near to El Feroz there were some five rods of space between them. They had fastened their rifles to the saddles in front of them, to hold them safe and yet have them where they could be quickly seized in case of sudden need and to give them free use of both of their hands in throwing their ropes and in managing their horses; and now, as they advanced toward the bear, they uncoiled their reatas and began slowly swinging the loops around their heads in readiness for the throw, while every faculty of their minds quickened and every muscle of their young bodies tightened in expectation of the coming battle that might mean death to one or both, if either blundered.

The grizzly glared furiously, first at one horseman then at the other, and tore more savagely than ever at the flesh of the horse, until both boys were almost upon him. Then, with a roar so savage and fearful that both horses, well-trained as they were, jumped violently, he reared up suddenly on his hind legs, the blood of the horse dripping from his reddened teeth, and, growling ferociously and swaying his huge head from side to side, he stood, for a moment, apparently trying to decide which one of those two venturesome humans he should tear to pieces first.

“Quick! Rope him around the neck before he charges!” yelled Thure. “I’ll try to get one of his hind legs.”

As Thure spoke Bud’s lasso shot through the air; and the loop glided swiftly over the great head and tightened suddenly around the hairy neck, just at the moment the bear came to the decision to charge Thure and sprang toward him, with the result that the sudden unexpectedness of the jerk of Bud’s rope yanked him off his feet and hurled him on his back.

Thure instantly saw his opportunity and before the huge beast could right himself, he had swiftly cast the loop of his rope around one of the sprawling hind legs and drawn it tight.

“Hurrah! We’ve got him!” yelled Bud triumphantly, as Gray Cloud whirled about and stood facing the grizzly, his strong body braced backward so that he held the rope taut, as all well-broken California horses were trained to do the moment the thrown rope caught its victim.

“Got him! You bet we’ve got him!” echoed Thure, as his own horse whirled into position, with both front legs strongly braced, and drew the lasso tight about bruin’s hind leg, thus stretching him out between the ends of the two reatas.

But they had not “got him” not yet; for, just at that moment, all the ferocious bulk of raging bone and muscle that had given El Feroz his name of terror, gave a tremendous heave, whirled over on its feet; and, before either boy knew what was happening, Bud’s lasso broke and about a ton of angry bear was hurling itself toward Thure.

The unforeseen mischance had happened with a vengeance!

Bud uttered a yell of warning and horror and caught at his rifle; but, almost before his hands could touch the gun, El Feroz was upon Thure and only a tremendous jump sideways of his brave little horse saved him from the sweep of one of those saber-armed paws.

The grizzly bear, for an animal of his huge bulk, is astonishingly agile and speedy, when once his fighting blood is aroused; and, if ever a grizzly was fighting mad, that grizzly was now El Feroz. The instant he saw that he had missed the horse and man, he whirled about and was after them again; and, so swift was his turn and so sudden his charge, that, once again, only the superior horsemanship of Thure and the agility of the horse saved them from a sweeping blow of one of the great paws that came so close that Thure could feel the rush of its wind against his face.

“Out run him! Out run him!” yelled Bud excitedly. “Try to throw him with your rope; and I’ll see if I can get a bullet in him,” and he suddenly jerked up Gray Cloud, so that he could make his aim more sure, threw his rifle to his shoulder, and fired.

The ball struck the grizzly, but did not disable him. Indeed, the wound seemed rather to increase the terrible energy and rage with which he was striving to reach Thure and his horse with one of those powerful paws; and, for a dreadful moment, it appeared to Bud as if the huge beast might even overtake the speedy horse. Then he saw that Thure was slowly gaining, that the rope, which still clutched the hind leg of the grizzly, was slowly tightening; and, with breathless haste, he began reloading his rifle. He had had all the roping of El Feroz he wanted; and now his only desire was to get a bullet into the huge body, where it would kill quickly, as speedily as possible. Suddenly, just as he was driving the bullet down into the barrel of his rifle, he heard a wild yell of exultation from Thure, and looked up just in time to see the hind part of the grizzly shoot upward into the air; and the next moment his astonished eyes saw the huge body dangling from a strong limb of an old oak tree, that thrust itself out from the sturdy trunk some fifteen feet above the ground, and held there by the grip of Thure’s rope around one of the hind legs.

It needed but a glance for Bud to understand how this seemingly marvelous feat had been accomplished. The quick eyes of Thure had seen the tree, with its sturdy limb thrust out some fifteen feet above the ground, almost directly in the line of his flight; and, swerving a little to one side, so as to pass close to it, and slowing up his horse a bit, he had gathered up the slack of the rope in his hand, and, as he passed the tree, he had thrown it so that the middle of the rope had fallen over the top of the limb not far from the trunk; and then, of course, the rope had jerked the bear up into the air, and Thure had whirled his horse about, and now the well-trained animal stood, his fore legs braced, holding the struggling grizzly up to the limb.

“Shoot, shoot him quick, before the limb or the rope breaks!” yelled Bud, the moment his eyes had taken in the situation, and, ramming the bullet swiftly home, he spurred Gray Cloud toward the dangling bear.

Thure at once seized his rifle; but so furious were the struggles of the grizzly he hung just so that his fore paws touched the ground as he twisted and turned and frantically pawed up the dirt, insane with rage, that it was impossible to get accurate aim from where he sat on his horse; and Thure jumped from his saddle and ran quickly close up to the swinging grizzly, now struggling more furiously than ever at the near approach of his hated enemy.

“Don’t! Look out! Can’t you see how the limb is bending and shaking?” yelled Bud excitedly. “The limb or the rope might break at any moment!” and Bud shuddered at the horror of the thought of what then might happen and urged his horse more desperately than ever toward the scene.

And, indeed, the huge body of the grizzly, twisting and swinging at the end of the rope, the blood flowing from the wound made by Bud’s bullet, his little red eyes glowing like coals of fire, his strong jaws snapping and growling, and his huge paws striking furiously in the direction of Thure, did make a sight to chill the marrow in the bones of any man.

Thure, now that he was so close to the bear that he could have touched him with the muzzle of his rifle, realized that, in his haste, he had done a fool-hardy thing; but he was not the kind of a lad to back down from a position once taken, not until he had to do so, and, quickly bringing his rifle to his shoulder, he waited until the swaying body presented a fatal spot to his aim, pulled the trigger, and leaped backward from the bear.

It was fortunate for Thure that he made that backward jump; for, at the crack of his rifle, El Feroz made such a tremendous lunge toward him, that the creaking limb bent nearly double, and, with a sound like the report of a gun, broke off close to the trunk and crashed to the ground on top of the grizzly.

For a moment El Feroz lay stunned by his wounds and fall and the crash of the heavy limb; and then, with a roar, he struggled to his feet, just as Bud jerked Gray Cloud to a halt not a rod away, and, instantly throwing his rifle to his shoulder, fired. Even then the ferocious beast plunged desperately toward his new enemy, staggering blindly, and fell dead on the exact spot where Thure had stood.

“Jumping buffaloes, but that was a narrow escape for you, Thure!” and, throwing himself out of his saddle, Bud rushed up to where Thure stood, white and trembling, now that the danger was over, not ten feet from where the bear lay dead.

“But, we’ve got him! Got El Feroz himself!” and the blood surged back to Thure’s face. “The biggest grizzly in all California! Say, but won’t the Mexicans and the Indians think we are great hunters now? And won’t Ruth and Iola stare, when we throw down the hide of El Feroz in front of them to-night?”

No wonder Thure felt a little vainglorious over their achievement; for there was not a hunter in all that country who would not have considered the killing of El Feroz the crowning exploit of his life, so great had become the monster grizzly’s reputation for savage ferocity and fearlessness of man.

“Well, I reckon we won’t do any more hunting to-day,” Bud declared, as he began swiftly reloading his rifle. In that country at that time no experienced hunter ever allowed his rifle to remain unloaded a moment longer than was necessary. “When we get the hide off that monster, it will be time to be starting for home,” and his eyes turned to the dead grizzly. “Whew, but isn’t he a whopper! I’ll bet that he will weigh nearly a ton! You are right, the girls will be surprised some, when we throw down that hide in front of them,” and his face flushed a little at the thought of the glory that would soon be theirs. “But, come, now that our guns are loaded, let’s get busy with our knives and get this big hide off,” and, pulling out his hunting-knife from its sheath, he bent over the huge carcass of El Feroz.

“I’ll be with you as soon as I free Buck,” and Thure, slipping the noose of his reata off the hind leg of the dead grizzly and coiling it around his arm, hastened to where his gallant little horse still stood; and, after fastening the rope in its place on the pommel of the saddle, he hurried back to where Bud was bending over the grizzly.

There was no need of tying their horses. All the rope required to hold them fast was the rope of love they bore their young masters, and so the two animals were left free, while the two boys busied themselves getting the pelt off the bear.

The skinning of a grizzly bear, especially when the bear is as huge and as tough as was El Feroz, is no light undertaking; but Thure and Bud were no novices at this kind of labor, and, after half an hour’s hard work, the great pelt was off and stretched out on the ground, skin side up.

“There, I am glad that job is done!” Thure exclaimed, with satisfaction, as he wiped his bloody knife on the grass. “Say, but he sure was a whopper!” and his eyes glanced exultantly over the great hide, now looking larger than ever as it lay spread out on the grass. “Great Moses, look at all those old bullet marks! Fifteen of them! No wonder that Mexican Juan thought El Feroz was protected by the devil! Hello, what is the matter now?” and Thure jumped up quickly from the hide, over which he had been bending counting El Feroz’s old bullet wounds, at a sudden exclamation of alarm from Bud.

“There! There! Look there!” Bud was pointing excitedly up the valley.

“Mother of men, they are murdering him!” “Come on!” and Thure, grabbing up his rifle, made a jump for his horse, followed by Bud.

Three-quarters of a mile up the valley from where our young friends had slain the big grizzly, a spur of rocks projected down into the valley, reaching like a long finger almost to the fringe of trees along the creek; and around this spur of rocks three men had slowly ridden, and, just as they had come in sight from where the boys stood, Bud, whose eyes had happened to be turned in that direction, had seen two of the men suddenly and apparently without warning set upon the third man and, after a short struggle, knock him off his horse. It was this sight that had caused his sudden cry of alarm, followed by Thure’s exclamation of horror, “They are murdering him!” and the quick jump of both boys for their horses.

It took Thure and Bud less than a minute to reach their horses and to spring up into their saddles; but, in that brief time, the unequal struggle up the valley was over, and the two men were bending over the prostrate body of their victim, apparently searching for valuables, when the two boys, with loud yells, spurred their horses at full speed toward them.

At the sound of their voices, the two men looked suddenly up, saw them coming, hastily grabbed up a few things from the ground, evidently taken from the man they were robbing, jumped to their feet, sprang on the backs of their horses, and, before either boy was near enough to shoot, both had disappeared around the spur of rocks, lashing and spurring their horses frantically.

Thure and Bud jerked up their horses by the side of the fallen man and, jumping from their saddles, bent quickly over him.

“They’ve murdered him!” cried Bud, the moment his horrified eyes saw the white face and the bloodstained breast of the stricken man. “They have stabbed him! The cowardly curs!”

“No, he is not dead! I can feel his heart beat. The stab was too low to reach his heart. Quick, we must do something to stop this flow of blood, or he soon will be dead,” and Thure tore open the bosom of the rough flannel shirt, exposing the red mouth of a knife wound from which the blood was flowing freely.

Thure and Bud were both familiar with the rough surgery of the plains and the mountains; and soon their deft hands had swiftly untied the silk scarfs from around their necks, plugged the wound with one of them and used the other to tightly bind and hold it in place.

“There, I think that will stop the blood! Now, let’s see what other hurts he has,” and Thure passed his hands gently over the man’s head. “Two bumps whoppers! Either enough to knock the senses out of an ox; but, I reckon, they’ve done no mortal damage. It’s the stab wound that I am most afraid of. What do you make out of it all anyway?” and Thure turned to Bud.

“Plain robbery and attempted murder,” Bud answered gravely. “The man is evidently a miner,” and his eyes rested on the long unkempt hair and beard, the weather-bronzed skin, and the rough worn clothing of the wounded man; “and was, probably, on his way from the mines to San Francisco with his gold-dust, when those two cowardly curs met him and, finding out that he was from the mines, attempted to murder him for his gold.”

“Reckon you’re right,” agreed Thure. “Leastwise there’s no use of speculating over it longer now. The thing to do is to get him home as soon as we can. Mother is powerful good doctoring hurts. Just see if you can get him up on the saddle in front of me. I reckon that’ll be the safest way to carry him,” and Thure mounted his horse, while Bud thrust his sturdy young arms under the body of the insensible man and, as gently as possible, lifted him to the saddle, where the strong arms of Thure held him as comfortably as possible.

“Now, I’ll strike out straight for home,” Thure said, as he started Buck off on a walk with his double burden; “and you can ride back and get the hide of El Feroz, and soon catch up with me.”

“All right. I’ll be with you again as soon as I can,” and Bud sprang on the back of Gray Cloud and started off on a gallop for the scene of the contest with the grizzly.

How wonderful it is that the tenor of our whole after lives may be, nay, frequently is, completely changed by some seemingly unimportant circumstance or unexpected happening. If Thure Conroyal and Bud Randolph had not heard the death-cry of that horse and had not turned aside to see what had caused those agonizing sounds, they would not have been delayed, by their contest with the grizzly, until the coming of the three men, nor have witnessed the attack on the miner; and, if they had not seen this attack on the miner and hurried to his rescue, they never would have heard the miner’s marvelous tale, nor have secured the skin map; and, if they had not heard the miner’s tale and secured the skin map But, I must let the story itself tell you all that resulted from these unexpected and seemingly unimportant happenings.