But although Step Hen spoke so flippantly,
he was far from being as confident as he pretended.
In fact, as he proceeded downward, he found his task
getting more and more difficult.
One thing that bothered him was the
getting up again. He just felt sure that he would
not be able to accomplish it; but then, if it came
to the worst, doubtless the balance of the descent
was no harder to manage than this; and after first
sending his big-horn down, he might pick his own way
after it, and the others could follow as best they
saw fit.
Step Hen was a self-reliant boy, at
any rate; sometimes the scoutmaster feared too much
so. And since he had said he was going to get
that game, and was already part way down the face
of the rocky wall, there was nothing to be done but
keep right along, which he proceeded to do.
He could not get the slightest glimpse
of his comrades. They were somewhere up above
him; but just as the guide had declared, the face
of the wall fell away in places, and this kept taking
him further beyond their range of vision constantly.
Whenever he could do so without imperiling
his support, Step Hen would crook his neck, and look
downward, in the hope of seeing where the sheep lay.
He could not help thinking how much easier this effort
would come for him, if a kindly Nature had given him
the extensive neck that Giraffe possessed.
“There it is!” he exclaimed,
joyfully, as his anxious eyes fell upon an object
just a short distance below, and which he knew must
be the crumpled body of his big-horn. “And
I ought to get there now without breaking my neck.
Wow! that was a near tumble, all right! Careful,
boy, careful now! Them horns of yours ain’t
growed big enough to drop on, like the sheep do.”
He halted for a full minute, not that
he was so tired in the arms, but to recover from the
shock received when he came so near falling. Then
once more resuming his labor, he presently had the
satisfaction of dropping beside the motionless body
of his victim.
“Bigger horns than Smithy’s
had!” was his first exclamation, as he bent
over, the better to see; and at the same moment he
became conscious of the fact that some buzzards, or
some other big birds, were swooping around close by,
making him think they had looked on his dead sheep
as their next dinner.
“Guess p’raps I’d
better be tossing it over here, and letting it roll
down to the bottom; then I c’n foller the best
way there is, and ”
Something gave him a sudden fierce
blow that knocked Step Hen down on his hands and knees;
and he might have rolled over the edge of the narrow
shelf, only for his good luck in catching hold of the
sheep’s rounded horns.
“Quit that, you silly! you nearly
knocked me over that time!” he shouted angrily;
his very first thought being that one of the other
boys, presumably Davy Jones, because he was so smart
about climbing everywhere, had followed after him,
and was thus rudely announcing his arrival close on
the heels of the first explorer.
But as Step Hen raised his head to
look, to his surprise he failed to see any one near
him. A dreadful suspicion that Davy might have
pitched over the edge of the narrow shelf, after striking
him, assailed the scout; and he was almost on the
point of looking, when suddenly there was a rush of
great wings, and he dropped flat on his face just
in time to avoid being struck a second time.
“Whew! eagles, and mad as hops
at me for comin’ here!” gasped Step Hen,
as, raising his head cautiously, like a turtle peeping
out of its shell, he caught sight of two wheeling
birds that came and went with tremendous speed.
He noted the spread of their immense
wings, and it seemed to Step Hen as if in all his
experience he had never before gazed upon more powerful
birds than those two Rocky Mountain eagles.
Perhaps they had a nest near by, with
young eaglets in it, and fancied that he was bent
on robbing them. Then again, the big birds may
have decided that they could make good use of the
fine quarry that had lodged in the rocks so conveniently
near their nest; and resented the coming of another
claimant.
But no matter what the contributing
cause might be, they were undoubtedly as “mad
as a wet hen,” as Step Hen afterwards declared,
in telling of his adventure there on that shelf of
rock, fully a hundred feet from the top and the bottom,
on the steep face of the mountain.
His first thought was how he could
fight back, for he saw that he was to be at the mercy
of the great birds that swooped down again and again,
striking viciously at him with claws, beaks and powerful
wings, until the boy was bleeding in half a dozen different
places.
In casting his eyes about, even as
he fought with his bare hands, and shouted for assistance
at the top of his voice, Step Hen made a little discovery.
A tree must have grown up above at one time or other,
for there, stuck fast in a crevice of the rock he
saw a pretty good-sized remnant of a branch that he
believed would make a fair cudgel, better than his
bare hands at any rate, with which to strike at the
attacking eagles.
When he had clutched this in his eager
hand the boy felt more confidence; and watching his
opportunity he did manage to meet the swoop of the
next bird with a whack that sent it whirling back.
But they quickly learned to adopt other tactics, now
that he was armed, both of them coming together from
opposite directions; so that unable to dodge, or hit
back properly Step Hen again found himself getting
the worst of the fight.
Would his companions be able to do
anything for him; or was he to be left there on that
shelf of rock, to either conquer his savage enemies,
alone and unaided, or succumb to their ferocious assaults?
All the while he was beating at them
with might and main Step Hen kept up a constant shouting.
He had a double purpose in this, hoping
to tempt one of his companions to descend to his rescue,
carrying a gun, since they seemed unable to hit the
birds from above, though several shots had been fired;
and then again it was possible that the sound of a
human voice would by degrees cause the eagles to haul
off.
“Take that, will you!”
the boy cried, whenever he succeeded in reaching either
of his feathered assailants with his club. “Come
at me again, will you? Just wait, and see what
happens to you yet! Ouch! that hurt some, now!
Oh! if I could only swing this club around better,
without bein’ afraid of tumbling over, wouldn’t
I knock their heads off, wow! once more
you’ll have it, will you? See the feathers
fly! I b’lieve they’re weakenin’
some, sure I do; but what about me? I’ll
bleed to death yet, if they keep on tapping me like
that.”
So Step Hen went on, shouting and
whacking away, doing the best he was able under the
circumstances. Nobody could ever say at any rate,
but what he put up a strapping good fight of it, he
kept thinking; but all the same he cast an anxious
eye upward whenever he could find a chance, hoping
to see a pair of human legs heave in sight, and discover
the welcome face of either Davy Jones or the guide.
“Bring a gun! Bring a gun!”
That was about the burden of his shouts.
He hoped those above understood what he was saying.
The eagles seldom went far outside a given circle,
so that they could only be glimpsed from above occasionally;
and it was like shooting at a disappearing target in
the gallery, to try and hit them under such circumstances.
Step Hen had knocked one of the great
birds down for the sixth time, and was dismayed to
see that he had not even then disabled it, since it
immediately started to fly again, no wing having been
broken by his club; when he thought he caught the
sound of a human voice close by.
Then some loose stones rattled down
beside him, giving him a thrill of joy; for he knew
now reinforcements were on the way, and it nerved him
to fight on.
Another minute, and some one dropped
down beside the crouching Step Hen, who was breathing
hard from his exertions, but still full of pluck,
as a true scout should always be.
“Toby!” he called out,
in a quavering voice, and looking very grim, with
his face so scratched, and streaked with blood; “I’m
sure glad to see you; but gladder to notice that you’ve
got your gun! Look out! there they come again!
Dodge, Toby, dodge; they’re on to you!”
But the guide had snatched his gun
from about his back, where it had been securely fastened
with a stout cord. He had no time to aim or fire
just then, only to swing the barrel around, and strike
viciously at the swooping bird, that threw its claws
forward as it pounced upon him, just as a fish-hawk
might do on striking the water.
The attack was quickly parried, and
now Toby also had a streak of blood on his cheek,
where one of those furious wings had struck him.
Now he turned the gun quickly around in his hands.
“Leave one for me, Toby!”
pleaded the boy, eagerly. “I ought to have
the pleasure of knocking over one of ’em, after
what they have done to me. Oh! you put it to
that gay old robber of honest fish-hawks, sure you
did! And he’s gone down below-decks for
good. Give me your gun, Toby; I must have
it, I tell you!”
And the guide, understanding, as well
as sympathizing with, the spirit that caused the other
to cry out in this fashion, did thrust his repeating
rifle into the hands of Step Hen, after throwing the
discharged shell out, and sending a fresh one into
the firing chamber.
With a satisfaction that words could
never paint, Step Hen followed the swinging form of
the remaining eagle as it flew around so as to get
in line for another swoop. And just as the great
bird started to come down at them, the boy pulled
the trigger.
His aim was true, and the second eagle
pitched forward, whirling over and over as it went
tumbling down the face of the descent, just as its
mate had done.
“Hurrah!” shouted Step
Hen, tremendously pleased with the final outcome of
the fight with the pair of fierce pirates of the upper
air currents; “that’s what they get for
tackling me, ain’t it, Toby? We gave ’em
what they needed, didn’t we? But say, I’m
just thinkin’ that it’s going to be a
tough old job for me to get back up where the boys
are; and that p’raps we’ll have to keep
on climbin’ down, after shoving the big-horn
off the shelf.”
And the guide, after recovering his
breath, which had been used up in his recent hasty
movements in coming to the rescue, looking over the
edge, admitted that he believed such a course was the
only one left to them.