Gulf and Glacier; or, The Percivals in Alaska. Willis Boyd Allen

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      “There!” she exclaimed, in the same tone of triumph with which she had announced the success of her fire on the shores of Nipissing, “we’ve done it, haven’t we?”

      After all, it was hardly worth the climb, for the newly gained position only disclosed further reaches, each promising a better outlook than the next below. Rossiter glanced at the gathering clouds.

      “Perhaps we’d better start, Miss Bessie,” he said, “if you’ve got your breath.”

      If truth be told, Bess would have liked a little longer rest; but she did not like to confess the fatigue she felt. Besides, it was all down hill now, so she held out her hand to her companion without misgiving.

      Before they had gone twenty yards, moving cautiously down from bowlder to bowlder close beside the ice, the air darkened and a fine rain set in.

      “That will hurry the rest along,” thought Bessie, “for they’re already in the easy part of the path, and they can run.” But she said nothing to distress her escort, who was already troubled enough by the prospect.

      “Be careful!” he called suddenly, as he saw Bessie spring over a mimic chasm, and barely miss losing her balance on the further side. “The rain makes these rocks slippery, and” —

      He was interrupted by a cry from Bess. She sank down on a bowlder and lifted a white face to him.

      “My ankle,” she said. “I’ve turned it, and it hurts – dreadfully!”

      “Let me help you, dear.”

      He was used to calling his sister that, you know.

      Bessie clung to his arm and tried to rise, but sank back with a sharp little moan of pain.

      “It’s no use,” she gasped. “I can’t stand. You’ll have – to go – and send somebody up – for me.”

      She looked so white that he thought she was going to faint. But the little Captain had no idea of giving way, if she could possibly help it.

      “Go, please,” she repeated, clutching the rough rim of the rock to control herself.

      Rossiter looked around, above, below. Not a living creature was in sight. It was no use to call for help, in that grim solitude. The rain drifted across the black forest in gray columns.

      “Won’t you leave me?” pleaded Bessie again.

      For reply he stooped, and lifting her in his arms as if she were a child, began to pick his way downward, slowly and cautiously.

      At the end of half a dozen rods his breath was gone. He placed his burden gently on the rocks.

      “O, Mr. Selborne!” cried Bess, with quivering lips, “it’s hurting you worse than me. Please” —

      But he had rested enough, and just smiling for reply, started along the path once more.

      It was now raining heavily, and the traveled way became more and more difficult to distinguish in the gathering dusk. Bessie was a strong, healthy young girl, and no light weight for a man to carry.

      The bridge was reached at last, and, narrow and slippery as it was, stretching above a deep and swift mountain stream, crossed in safety.

      In a few moments they were at the edge of the forest; but Rossiter, little used in late years to active sports or athletic exertion of any kind, felt his strength leaving him. Great beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, though the air was bitter cold and the rain like ice.

      He staggered and saved himself with difficulty from falling, with Bessie in his arms. As he placed her on the ground at the mossy foot of a huge tree, he spoke to her, but she did not answer. This time she had fainted in earnest.

      But it is time to return to the solitary representative of the Percival family – or at least of the younger portion of it – who found more attraction at the base of the mountain than on its lofty and ice-clad slopes. Mr. and Mrs. Percival had gone to the hotel at once, and were glad to rest there while the tireless young people “explored.”

      The moment the train had stopped and the passengers began to pour out of the cars, Tom had caught sight of an animal which by this time had become pretty familiar to the travelers; namely, a bear. At almost every station they had passed, since leaving Winnipeg, was one or more of these furry friends in captivity. Tom had made overtures to all of them, sometimes barely escaping a dangerous scratch or bite from the half-tamed animals. The boy was just now an ardent naturalist, in his impulsive way, and felt a great interest in every strange creature on four legs – especially bears.

      Here was a good chance then, to cultivate Bruin’s acquaintance. While Tom was providing himself with lumps of sugar at the hotel, his sisters and the rest of the party started up the forest path for the Glacier, as we have seen.

      “Feed the black bear all you want to, but don’t fool with the cinnamon,” called the clerk after heedless Tom, who was already out of hearing.

      Blackie was within a few rods of the hotel, and Tom was soon having great fun with him, tossing him lumps of sugar, and then holding them up while the bear, who was only a half-grown cub, stood clumsily on his hind legs and, supporting himself against the boy’s shoulders, stretched out his little gray snout for the coveted sweets.

      They were in the midst of their frolic when Tom heard a chain rattle, up toward the woods. Something was moving among the stumps – another bear.

      “Good-by, Pomp,” shouted Tom, letting his shaggy playmate down rather unceremoniously on all fours. “I must call on your cousin, over there.”

      Pomp gazed at him with what Tom afterward declared was a most meaning look in his twinkling eyes, and galloped after him – only to be jerked sprawling at the end of his tether. Then he sat down, after the manner of his kind, and watched the retreating form of the dispenser of sugar, shaking his head gloomily.

      “I’ll save a lump for you and be back before long, old fellow,” called Tom encouragingly over his shoulder.

      The cinnamon proved to be double the size of his black neighbor. Instead of ambling up to his visitor as the other had done, he retreated a pace or two, and eyed him with such an unpleasant expression that Tom stopped short.

      “Come, Brownie,” said he, in his most cajoling tones. “Here’s some sugar for you.” And he tossed him a lump.

      Cinnamon stretched out his paw, raked the lump nearer, and bolted it. The taste was pleasing, and he slowly advanced, dragging his heavy chain after him.

      “Friendly enough,” said Tom to himself. “I’ll try him with a lump in my hand.”

      The bear took it rather too greedily for the comfort of the holder, but seemed in nowise inclined to hostile measures.

      “Stand up!”

      Bruin clumsily erected himself on his haunches, and caught the sugar tossed to him.

      Tom was delighted.

      “Now put your paws up on my shoulders and get it.” He stood back to the animal and looked at him over his shoulder.

      Up came Cinnamon again, though СКАЧАТЬ