rifle. He landed hard on his front hoofs, but immediately wrenched himself free and reared again. I glanced at the growling bear as he stood with his front paws also whipping the air.
As Chestnut dropped to ground once again, I sidestepped, grabbed the saddle horn, and leaped onto his back with a single bound. My butt had not slid into position before Chestnut reared again. With only a left-handed hold on the horn, I kicked my feet furiously to find the stirrups while I reached for my shotgun on the right side of the saddle. I grasped it but couldn’t get it out of the scabbard at this angle without getting a foothold in at least one stirrup. At a loss, I used my grip on the stock to flip the shotgun up and caught it by the barrel before it slipped back into the scabbard or fell to the ground.
Just then, Chestnut pounded onto his front hoofs so hard, I tumbled over his head and onto the ground. I rolled uncontrolled into a tree trunk and spun around on my butt toward the threat. The grizzly was charging me!
I still had the shotgun in my hand.
Reflexively, my left hand gripped the stock, my right slid back to the trigger, and my thumb cocked both barrels.
Bang! Bang! Two blasts!
The grizzly came on.
I ducked just enough to avoid being battered with his teeth, but not before one of his claws mauled at my arm. I thought this was my end, but in a moment, I realized that although I had an enormous weight on me, the bear was not moving. I put the flat of my hands against his chest and gave a mighty shove. The brute hardly moved, but it was enough for me to slip sideways out from under him.
When I stood, both of my hands were covered in blood. I wiped them off on the bear and looked around for Chestnut. He stood only a few feet away, snorting and throwing his head side to side in a gesture of triumph. I ran over and threw my left arm around his neck as I pulled my rifle out with my right. The embrace was fleeting, because I wanted to make sure the bear was dead.
I walked over to the grizzly and shot him in the head.
“I don’t think that was necessary,” McAllen said from behind me. “That animal was already dead.”
McAllen and Sharp stood behind me, rifles at the ready.
“Yep,” Sharp added. “Don’t look like ya keep birdshot loads in your shotgun.”
I started to laugh but instead collapsed to the ground, with my leg muscles shaking like loose shingles in a northeaster. Dooley came running up and immediately knelt beside me.
“Gawd, you’re a mess.” This was not my desired prognosis from a doctor. After a few minutes of inspection, Dooley used his handkerchief to wipe the front of my coat. He showed me the handkerchief. “This ain’t your blood, except on the arm. Lucky you had this sheepskin coat on. You only got deep scratches.”
“Check my heart. It might be dislocated. I think I feel it in my throat.”
“You’re lucky,” McAllen said. “I’ve seen what a grizzly can do to a man.”
I lifted my uninjured arm. “Give me a lift up, Doc.” When I regained my footing, I said, “Luck had nothing to do with it. Chestnut saved my life.” I walked over to my horse and laid my head on his left side, wrapping both arms around his neck. This time I made more than a fleeting embrace. After a moment, I pulled the reins slightly until his head was even with mine. I looked Chestnut in the eye and said, “Thank you.”
When I turned, my three friends were watching me. Sharp pointed at the bear. “Ya want the head?”
“The head?” Then I got his meaning. “Nope. You want it, you take it. I’ll see that grizzly’s head every time I close my eyes. I don’t need to see it when they’re open.”
Leading Chestnut gently by the reins, I started to walk back toward the campfire. “Jeff, I hope that coffee’s ready. I sure could use a cup.”
Chapter 21
We rode into Leadville in the late afternoon of the fourth day. The surrounding Rocky Mountains inspired awe and humility. The thin air,
As Chestnut dropped to ground once again, I sidestepped, grabbed the saddle horn, and leaped onto his back with a single bound. My butt had not slid into position before Chestnut reared again. With only a left-handed hold on the horn, I kicked my feet furiously to find the stirrups while I reached for my shotgun on the right side of the saddle. I grasped it but couldn’t get it out of the scabbard at this angle without getting a foothold in at least one stirrup. At a loss, I used my grip on the stock to flip the shotgun up and caught it by the barrel before it slipped back into the scabbard or fell to the ground.
Just then, Chestnut pounded onto his front hoofs so hard, I tumbled over his head and onto the ground. I rolled uncontrolled into a tree trunk and spun around on my butt toward the threat. The grizzly was charging me!
I still had the shotgun in my hand.
Reflexively, my left hand gripped the stock, my right slid back to the trigger, and my thumb cocked both barrels.
Bang! Bang! Two blasts!
The grizzly came on.
I ducked just enough to avoid being battered with his teeth, but not before one of his claws mauled at my arm. I thought this was my end, but in a moment, I realized that although I had an enormous weight on me, the bear was not moving. I put the flat of my hands against his chest and gave a mighty shove. The brute hardly moved, but it was enough for me to slip sideways out from under him.
When I stood, both of my hands were covered in blood. I wiped them off on the bear and looked around for Chestnut. He stood only a few feet away, snorting and throwing his head side to side in a gesture of triumph. I ran over and threw my left arm around his neck as I pulled my rifle out with my right. The embrace was fleeting, because I wanted to make sure the bear was dead.
I walked over to the grizzly and shot him in the head.
“I don’t think that was necessary,” McAllen said from behind me. “That animal was already dead.”
McAllen and Sharp stood behind me, rifles at the ready.
“Yep,” Sharp added. “Don’t look like ya keep birdshot loads in your shotgun.”
I started to laugh but instead collapsed to the ground, with my leg muscles shaking like loose shingles in a northeaster. Dooley came running up and immediately knelt beside me.
“Gawd, you’re a mess.” This was not my desired prognosis from a doctor. After a few minutes of inspection, Dooley used his handkerchief to wipe the front of my coat. He showed me the handkerchief. “This ain’t your blood, except on the arm. Lucky you had this sheepskin coat on. You only got deep scratches.”
“Check my heart. It might be dislocated. I think I feel it in my throat.”
“You’re lucky,” McAllen said. “I’ve seen what a grizzly can do to a man.”
I lifted my uninjured arm. “Give me a lift up, Doc.” When I regained my footing, I said, “Luck had nothing to do with it. Chestnut saved my life.” I walked over to my horse and laid my head on his left side, wrapping both arms around his neck. This time I made more than a fleeting embrace. After a moment, I pulled the reins slightly until his head was even with mine. I looked Chestnut in the eye and said, “Thank you.”
When I turned, my three friends were watching me. Sharp pointed at the bear. “Ya want the head?”
“The head?” Then I got his meaning. “Nope. You want it, you take it. I’ll see that grizzly’s head every time I close my eyes. I don’t need to see it when they’re open.”
Leading Chestnut gently by the reins, I started to walk back toward the campfire. “Jeff, I hope that coffee’s ready. I sure could use a cup.”
Chapter 21
We rode into Leadville in the late afternoon of the fourth day. The surrounding Rocky Mountains inspired awe and humility. The thin air,
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