At ten o’clock, Mr. Keller, the secretary, called me up: "‘You’re sure you have potted that old Double Killer?” he asked.
“We sure have! His hide is nine feet long, and his hind feet fourteen and a half inches. White spot on the breast; several old, healed bullet wounds in the carcass,” I answered.
“Well, I guess that’s him, all right. You bring the hide down, when you get around to it, just for proof, you know, and I ’ll give you our check for the two hundred dollar reward that we offered for him. Boy, you sure have done a good job in putting an end to that old cattle killer. How did you have the sand to tackle him?”
“Just had to do it, that’s all,” I answered; and he hung up. I had no intention to tell him about our Hopi friends and their strange mission to our mountain.
The young Hopi was going down the west slope of the mountain for wood and water for his priests, so we did not see him until noon, when he came to us and said that he was free until evening, and would go down with us, when we went to lunch, and put in the afternoon fleshing and stretching the bear hide. There was a lot of meat and fat on it. And then, there was the carcass to be burned, the quickest and best way to dispose of it. When we asked him what his old men were doing, he replied that they were making a lot of prayer sticks, saying certain prayers, singing certain songs to Rain God, and trying to get revealing dreams.
“Revealing dreams?” Hannah questioned.
‘‘Yes. To priests — and sometimes to others — are now and then given dreams by which it is learned what is to happen, whether of good or bad to the dreamer, and to the Hopi people. I know that you do not believe in dreams — oh, well, wise though white people are, there are some things — strange things — that they have yet to learn,’’ he answered.
I made my noon report of no new fires, learned that the firebugs had not been found, and we went down to the cabin, expecting to find it ransacked, but saw at a glance that no more food had been taken. We cooked some slices of ham, fried potatoes, and baked a pan of biscuit, and this time, when Hannah asked our friend to eat with us, he replied that he would.
“I am so much tainted now,’’ he said, ‘‘that more will make no difference. Yes, I will eat with you.”
During the meal I asked him how he was going to stretch the bear skin.
“You shall know when you return here this evening, and you will be pleased. If you have a spare length of rope, give it to me.”
I pulled the rope ladder from under the bunk and told him to help himself.
When Hannah and I returned to the lookout at one o’clock, she stood watch and I slept. Shortly after three o’clock she wakened me and said that I was wanted at the telephone, and laughed.
“What you laughing about.? Who wants me?” I growled, still so sleepy that I could hardly get to the ’phone. She only laughed again as she handed me the receiver. And then I recognized the voice of John La Motte, an old-time mountain man and trapper. ‘‘That you, George Crosby? Well, consarn yer pictur' what you mean by killin’ my bear, that there old Double Killer, an’ me after him for the last four years?”
“I’m sure sorry, John,” I answered. “’Course, if I’d known he was your bear, I would n’t have dreamed of shooting at him.”
“Haw-haw-haw!” he roared. “But, say, all joshin’ aside, how on yearth did you manage to put it over on him?”
“I was sleeping outside, up against the cabin wall, and along about two o’clock he came prowling along and stopped within three feet of my bunk, and went on a few steps and stopped and looked back at me, and then went on, and when he was part-way across the clearing I wounded him, and then put a bullet into his brain. Of course I know that it was only by chance that I got him—I could n’t aim at his head in the moonlight — ”
“Sufferin’ cactus an’ cat’s-claws!” the old man broke in. “I should say’t was a scratch! Why, boy!
It’s the greatest wonder on yearth that he did n’t jump you right there in your bunk! Wa’n’t you plumb scared?”
“I sure was! Hardly over it now!”
‘‘Well, seein’ ’t wa’n’t fer me to get him, I’m sure glad he’s your’n. Wish’t I was up your way, free an’ easy. ’Stead of that, here I be, roped into fightin’ this big fire! Fit it all night, got to fight it again to-night! Well, boy, you take good care of your bear hide — it’s sure worth a hundred dollars — an’ then, you get the two hundred reward. Well, so long, boy!”
“Wait!” I cried. “What about the firebugs — ”
“Them firebugs are sure slick!” he broke in. “The sheriff’s men and them there Apache police ain’t findin’ ’em. ’Course, I don’t blame the sheriff’s outfit — white men are no trailers. But them Apaches, why, boy, they can trail a deer over bare rocks! They just natch’ally don’t want to find them outlaws, because why: they’re plumb ag’in’ law an’ order! Trouble amongst us whites is sure duck soup to them! ”
‘‘Are you making any headway with the fire?” I asked.
“Some. She’s sure a big one, and the forest is mighty dry. But if the wind don’t raise, I b’lieve we’II have her out in four or five days. Well, so long!”
“So long!” I answered, and hung up.
Hannah had been standing close beside me, listening to our talk. “The old trapper is right,” she said. “You have had a narrow escape from that terrible bear!” She shivered.
“I know it! I sure know it!” I answered. And did n’t have to shut my eyes to again see that huge, mean-eyed head close in front of me.
Just before five o’clock we saw our Hopi friend come up on top and go on to the north end of the mountain to wait upon his old men. How we wished that we might see what they were doing in the cave! We presently noticed a thin drift of smoke coming up over the crest above it, and wondered how the old men could breathe when there was a fire in the cave.
When we got down to the cabin that evening, we found the bear hide stretched and laced with shreds of rope into a frame of four stout poles leaning against the north side of the cabin — extending up to the very peak of it. Every bit of meat and fat had been removed, leaving the flesh side evenly dark-colored and as smooth as a piece of polished wood. We stood admiring it for some time. I thought of the coyote, and wolf, and wild-cat skins I had stretched upon the side of our barn to dry: all askew, and heavy with meat and fat, and was ashamed of my crude work.
“Just the other day,” said Hannah, ‘‘I read about an annual fur sale in St. Louis. I did n’t read it carefully, but, as I remember, grizzly bear skins sold for two hundred dollars. I believe we can get that much for ours.”
We might, if we only knew where to send it.”
“We must know. When we go home we’ll look in the papers for the addresses of fur-buyers,” she said.
And from that moment the possibility of getting that big sum for the hide was always in our minds. When the Hopi came down to us, at sunset, we told him about it, and I said that two hundred dollars seemed to be a lot of money for a bear hide, and he laughed:
‘‘You have never been to Grand Canyon?” he asked. “No.” Well, I have, several times. There is always a crowd of rich people at that place, people who spend money as carelessly as I would take up a handful of sand and cast it to the winds. I once saw ten hundred dollars paid there for a little painting, just a little painting of the cliff of Oraibi, and an old Hopi man sitting on it and looking off at the desert. I saw there a large painting of the Canyon that was sold for twenty thousand dollars. If I had the bear hide there, I believe that I could sell it at once for twice two hundred dollars!’’
I ’ll bet that Hannah and I gasped when he told us that!