About a week after our travellers left the outpost, Arrowhead had an adventure with a bear, which had well-nigh cut short his journey through this world, as well as his journey in the wilderness of Rupert’s Land.

It was in the evening of a beautiful day when it happened.  The canoe had got among some bad rapids, and, as it advanced very slowly, young Heywood asked to be put on shore, that he might walk up the banks of the river, which were very beautiful, and sketch.

In half an hour he was far ahead of the canoe.  Suddenly, on turning round a rocky point, he found himself face to face with a small Indian boy.  It is probable that the little fellow had never seen a white man before, and it is certain that Heywood had never seen such a specimen of a brown boy.  He was clothed in skin, it is true, but it was the skin in which he had been born, for he had not a stitch of clothing on his fat little body.

As the man and the boy stood staring at each other, it would have been difficult to say which opened his eyes widest with amazement.  At first Heywood fancied the urchin was a wild beast of some sort on two legs, but a second glance convinced him that he was a real boy.  The next thought that occurred to the artist was, that he would try to sketch him, so he clapped his hand to his pocket, pulled out his book and pencil, and forthwith began to draw.

This terrified the little fellow so much, that he turned about and fled howling into the woods.  Heywood thought of giving chase, but a noise attracted his attention at that moment, and, looking across the river, he beheld the boy’s father in the same cool dress as his son.  The man had been fishing, but when he saw that strangers were passing, he threw his blanket round him, jumped into his canoe, and crossed over to meet them.

This turned out to be a miserably poor family of Indians, consisting of the father, mother, three girls, and a boy, and a few ill-looking dogs.  They all lived together in a little tent or wigwam, made partly of skins and partly of birch-bark.  This tent was shaped like a cone.  The fire was kindled inside, in the middle of the floor.  A hole in the side served for a door, and a hole in the top did duty for window and chimney.  The family kettle hung above the fire, and the family circle sat around it.  A dirtier family and filthier tent one could not wish to see.  The father was a poor weakly man and a bad hunter; the squaw was thin, wrinkled, and very dirty, and the children were all sickly-looking, except the boy before mentioned, who seemed to enjoy more than his fair share of health and rotundity.

“Have ye got anything to eat?” inquired Jasper, when the canoe reached the place.

They had not got much, only a few fish and an owl.

“Poor miserable critters,” said Jasper, throwing them a goose and a lump of venison; “see there - that’ll keep the wolf out o’ yer insides for some time.  Have ye got anything to smoke?”

No, they had nothing to smoke but a few dried leaves.

“Worse and worse,” cried Jasper, pulling a large plug of tobacco from the breast of his coat; “here, that’ll keep you puffin’ for a short bit, anyhow.”

Heywood, although no smoker himself, carried a small supply of tobacco just to give away to Indians, so he added two or three plugs to Jasper’s gift, and Arrowhead gave the father a few charges of powder and shot.  They then stepped into their canoe, and pushed off with that feeling of light hearted happiness which always follows the doing of a kind action.

“There’s bears up the river,” said the Indian, as they were leaving.

“Have ye seen them?” inquired Jasper.

“Ay, but could not shoot - no powder, no ball.  Look out for them!”

“That will I,” replied the hunter, and in another moment the canoe was out among the rapids again, advancing slowly up the river.

In about an hour afterwards they came to a part of the river where the banks were high and steep.  Here Jasper landed to look for the tracks of the bears.  He soon found these, and as they appeared to be fresh, he prepared to follow them up.

“We may as well encamp here,” said he to Arrowhead; “you can go and look for the bears.  I will land the baggage, and haul up the canoe, and then take my gun and follow you.  I see that our friend Heywood is at work with his pencil already.”

This was true.  The keen artist was so delighted with the scene before him, that the moment the canoe touched the land he had jumped out, and, seating himself on the trunk of a fallen tree, with book and pencil, soon forgot everything that was going on around him.

Arrowhead shouldered his gun and went away up the river.  Jasper soon finished what he had to do, and followed him, leaving Heywood seated on the fallen tree.

Now the position which Heywood occupied was rather dangerous.  The tree lay on the edge of an overhanging bank of clay, about ten feet above the water, which was deep and rapid at that place.  At first the young man sat down on the tree-trunk near its root, but after a time, finding the position not quite to his mind, he changed it, and went close to the edge of the bank.  He was so much occupied with his drawing, that he did not observe that the ground on which his feet rested actually overhung the stream.  As his weight rested on the fallen tree, however, he remained there safe enough and busy for half an hour.

At the end of that time he was disturbed by a noise in the bushes.  Looking up, he beheld a large brown bear coming straight towards him.  Evidently the bear did not see him, for it was coming slowly and lazily along, with a quiet meditative expression on its face.  The appearance of the animal was so sudden and unexpected, that poor Heywood’s heart almost leaped into his mouth.  His face grew deadly pale, his long hair almost rose on his head with terror, and he was utterly unable to move hand or foot.

In another moment the bear was within three yards of him, and, being taken by surprise, it immediately rose on its hind legs, which is the custom of bears when about to make or receive an attack.  It stared for a moment at the horrified artist.

Let not my reader think that Heywood’s feelings were due to cowardice.  The bravest of men have been panic-stricken when taken by surprise.  The young man had never seen a bear before, except in a cage, and the difference between a caged and a free bear is very great.  Besides, when a rough-looking monster of this kind comes unexpectedly on a man who is unarmed, and has no chance of escape, and rises on its hind legs, as if to let him have a full view of its enormous size, its great strength, and its ugly appearance, he may well be excused for feeling a little uncomfortable, and looking somewhat uneasy.

When the bear rose, as I have said, Heywood’s courage returned.  His first act was to fling his sketch-book in Bruin’s face, and then, uttering a loud yell, he sprang to his feet, intending to run away.  But the violence of his action broke off the earth under his feet.  He dropt into the river like a lump of lead, and was whirled away in a moment!

What that bear thought when it saw the man vanish from the spot like a ghost, of course I cannot tell.  It certainly looked surprised, and, if it was a bear of ordinary sensibility, it must undoubtedly have felt astonished.  At any rate, after standing there, gazing for nearly a minute in mute amazement at the spot where Heywood had disappeared, it let itself down on its forelegs, and, turning round, walked slowly back into the bushes.

Poor Heywood could not swim, so the river did what it pleased with him.  After sweeping him out into the middle of the stream, and rolling him over five or six times, and whirling him round in an eddy close to the land, and dragging him out again into the main current, and sending him struggling down a rapid, it threw him at last, like a bundle of old clothes, on a shallow, where he managed to get on his feet, and staggered to the shore in a most melancholy plight.  Thereafter he returned to the encampment, like a drowned rat, with his long hair plastered to his thin face, and his soaked garments clinging tightly to his slender body.  Had he been able to see himself at that moment, he would have laughed, but, not being able to see himself, and feeling very miserable, he sighed and shuddered with cold, and then set to work to kindle a fire and dry himself.

Meanwhile the bear continued its walk up the river.  Arrowhead, after a time, lost the track of the bear he was in search of, and, believing that it was too late to follow it up farther that night, he turned about, and began to retrace his steps.  Not long after that, he and the bear met face to face.  Of course, the Indian’s gun was levelled in an instant, but the meeting was so sudden, that the aim was not so true as usual, and, although the ball mortally wounded the animal, it did not kill him outright.

There was no time to re-load, so Arrowhead dropped his gun and ran.  He doubled as he ran, and made for the encampment; but the bear ran faster.  It was soon at the Indian’s heels.  Knowing that farther flight was useless, Arrowhead drew the hatchet that hung at his belt, and, turning round, faced the infuriated animal, which instantly rose on its hind legs and closed with him.

The Indian met it with a tremendous blow of his axe, seized it by the throat with his left hand, and endeavoured to repeat the blow. But brave and powerful though he was, the Indian was like a mere child in the paw of the bear.  The axe descended with a crash on the monster’s head, and sank into its skull.  But bears are notoriously hard to kill.  This one scarcely seemed to feel the blow.  Next instant Arrowhead was down, and, with its claws fixed in the man’s back, the bear held him down, while it began to gnaw the fleshy part of his left shoulder.

No cry escaped from the prostrate hunter.  He determined to lie perfectly still, as if he were dead, that being his only chance of escape; but the animal was furious, and there is little doubt that the Indian’s brave spirit would soon have fled, had not God mercifully sent Jasper Derry to his relief.

That stout hunter had been near at hand when the shot was fired.  He at once ran in the direction whence the sound came, and arrived on the scene of the struggle just as Arrowhead fell.  Without a moment’s hesitation he dropt on one knee, took a quick but careful aim and fired.  The ball entered the bear’s head just behind the ear and rolled it over dead!

Arrowhead’s first act on rising was to seize the hand of his deliverer, and in a tone of deep feeling exclaimed, “My brother!”

“Ay,” said Jasper with a quiet smile, as he reloaded his gun; “this is not the first time that you and I have helped one another in the nick of time, Arrowhead; we shall be brothers, and good friends to boot, I hope, as long as we live.”

“Good,” said the Indian, a smile lighting up for one moment his usually grave features.

“But my brother is wounded, let me see,” said Jasper.

“It will soon be well,” said the Indian carelessly, as he took off his coat and sat down on the bank, while the white hunter examined his wounds.

This was all that was said on the subject by these two men.  They were used to danger in every form, and had often saved each other from sudden death.  The Indian’s wounds, though painful, were trifling.  Jasper dressed them in silence, and then, drawing his long hunting knife, he skinned and cut up the bear, while his companion lay down on the bank, smoked his pipe, and looked on.  Having cut off the best parts of the carcass for supper, the hunters returned to the canoe, carrying the skin along with them.