Chapter 5: Grizzly

On the fourth day out of Silverton, the snow continued coming down with blizzard-like force. Hoyt had given up on making the hundred mile trip in four and a half days. He was now hoping for six, yet he knew they weren’t making more than twelve to fifteen miles a day in this snowstorm, if that much. Even if the snow stopped – which some days he thought it would, when he’d see a brief break in the skies – it will now take them at least six days if not more – with up to three foot of snow, and drifts of four to five foot already on the ground.

He looked back to see the small Jenny-Mule and the other packmule now crowding up behind the horse Wharton rode. They were no longer lagging back at the end of the line, they were almost abreast of the horse. He’d even noticed Chelley taking longer, more powerful steps into the deep snow – even late in the day before Hoyt stopped for the night to rest and feed the animals.

There was only one reason he could think of. They smelled danger, and the only dangers that would make them this skittish, would have to be a Grizzly or a Cougar.

Hoyt felt luck had finally given him a break when he spotted a steep rock bluff on the north side of the trail. Before he could turn Chelley toward the space of bare ground at the base of the bluff, his big horse walked into the opening and stopped.

“We think alike, Big Man. This is just what we needed to get some rest and warm by the fire.”

Again, just as he had done each night on this mountain trail, Hoyt tended to Chelley first. Then came the fire with the coffeepot full of snow. That done, he watered the animals and fed them. Next, he dragged Wharton over closer to the fire to warm, eat, and drink coffee.

During the night, Hoyt heard Chelley grumbling deep in his throat. He was up with a lantern in one hand and his pistol in the other. Holding the lantern overhead, turning a complete circle, he didn’t see or hear anything out there in this cold, silent, snow covered, mountain wilderness. He pulled his watch and saw it was another two hours before daylight ... If there would even be any daylight.

The fire was burning low, but he saved his wood. They were about out, after taking so long to get across The Divide and this far down through the cutoff. He was saddling Wharton’s horse when he heard the loud, piercing scream.

He’d never heard a Cougar before in his life, but he knew what it was as soon as he heard it. He slipped his rifle out of his rifle boot and stepped over next to bluff. The lantern was to his right, but he could see out into the snow covered darkness. Turning slowly, rifle to his shoulder, he spotted the big cat as it stalked through the snow, circling the camp. He couldn’t get a clear shot, until the cat stepped out between two tall rocks, then he squeezed the trigger. The Cougar leaped into the air, squalling as it fell back on it’s side, trying to crawl away. Hoyt put his next shot in the cat’s head and it lay still.

The horses and mules were nervously tramping the ground. He walked over to calm them down before he finished saddling Wharton’s horse and Chelley. After kicking a pile of snow over the glowing coals, Hoyt mounted Chelley and led his procession out of the campsite and down the trail, with his lantern held overhead by the shovel.

By daylight, the snow had all but stopped and the clouds were breaking up overhead. By noon, the sun was out, glaring off the snow, nearly blinding him. The strong winds blowing down the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains was freezing cold; even colder than when the blizzard was on them in full force. He was nearing the treeline an hour before dark and decided to stop early, build a big fire and get warm. He just knew they would be in Alamosa sometime the next day.

There was snow drifted up under the trees along the trail, but he spotted a downed Aspen and raked the snow back to build a big fire on the downwind side of the log. He was hoping the log would be dry enough to burn, and save his firewood.

By the time he had the horses taken care of and Wharton off his horse, the log had caught fire. Tying the horses and mules to nearby tree limbs, Hoyt fed and watered them. With a roaring fire burning the side of the log, he didn’t bother lighting a lantern as dark closed in around the camp.

Later, he had just settled into his warm bedroll – when suddenly he felt something bump his foot. Rolling out onto the frozen ground with his gun in his hand, he saw a huge shadow looming over him as he looked up. Scuttling backward on his hands and knees he looked up again and realized it was Chelley standing over him.

Chelley was tossing his head wildly as Hoyt stood to calm him down.

“What’s wrong, Big Man?” he whispered, looking around the camp to see Wharton balled up in his bedroll. The other horse and two mules were going wild as they bucked and kicked, pulling against their lead ropes.

His first thought was another Cougar. Looking around the camp slowly, where the firelight showed the surrounding trees and shadows beyond, he didn’t see anything moving. Yet he knew Chelley would never pull loose unless something was out there. He stooped to pick up his rifle where it lay across his saddle.

Just as he stood, he heard the Jenny-Mule begin to bray. Stepping around Chelley, he hurried over to where she and the others were tied. He didn’t have a lantern lit and now he wished he did. This far from the fire, all he saw was shadows out through the trees.

Turning back toward the fire, he saw a tall dark shadow moving slowly toward him. He knew this wasn’t a man. “GRIZZLY!” He yelled as he raised his rifle. He knew his first shot hit solid, he saw blood spurt from the bear’s throat. Still, the big bear kept coming. He was on his hind legs, his front paws swiping from side to side as he stepped closer and closer to where Hoyt stood next to the horses tied under the trees.

Hoyt took another shot, this one into the bear’s chest at near point-blank range. The bear staggered, then turned toward Hoyt, as it fell to all fours and charged him. It happened so fast, he couldn’t get his rifle up. He fell backwards, grabbing for his pistol when the bear ran into him. He just knew the bear was going to maul him to death.

The bear had run over him, headed straight for the little Jenny-Mule when Hoyt rolled and stood. Firing as fast as he could, he emptied his pistol into the back of the bear’s head. The bear fell dead as it slid underneath the Jenny-Mule. The little girl pulled free, bucking, kicking and braying as she ran over to stand beside Chelley.

Hoyt felt around on the ground for his rifle while keeping an eye on the bear. It was still making grunting, growling sounds. With his rifle pointed at the bear, he slowly eased around to put one more bullet in him, between his eyes. That stopped the noises and all was quiet.

He knew he’d never be able to go back to sleep after that fracas with the bear, so he made a pot of coffee. He looked over at Wharton and the man was sitting up in his bedroll. “I heard you yell, Grizzly, then all the shootin’ started. Guess it’s better to be a hard man at times. Least ways you saved the animals, and me,” the man said, then rolled over and covered his head.

Hoyt sat on a broken limb on the side of the log, and piled more wood on the fire, drinking coffee until he emptied the pot. He washed the coffeepot with snow, then packed up everything before daybreak. He could see stars among the scattered clouds and wondered if the snowstorm was finally about over.

Before he could break camp and load Wharton on his horse, he had his answer about the blizzard. Snow was coming down so heavy, he could hardly see the trees lining the trail as they headed down the mountainside through the forest.

They had only gone a few miles from where they’d camped when Chelley began balking, trying to turn back as he whinnied and started bucking. Hoyt reached back to pull his rifle from the saddle boot just as the bear came out of the trees toward them. He turned Chelley to the side, then pulled back on his reins. Taking careful aim, he put his first shot in the bear’s throat, the next one through his chest and the next through his open mouth as he charged toward them in a rage.

Hoyt raked his heels across Chelley’s flanks and the big horse leaped across the trail, pulling the horse and two mules with him. He looked back to see the bear chasing them and he knew they could never outrun him in this deep snow.

With Chelley jumping and bucking, Hoyt bailed off the saddle. Landing on his feet, he took careful aim and put a slug between the bear’s eyes. That slowed him, but only for a second or two.

Just as the little Jenny-Mule ran past, Hoyt grabbed hold of the packsaddle, letting her drag him on his back through the deep snow as the bear raged and roared behind him. The little mule was bucking and braying as she followed the packhorse in front of her.

Suddenly she stopped and Hoyt scrambled to his feet. Standing in a snowdrift up to his chest, he turned to see the bear limping toward him on all fours, blood soaking the snow in his tracks. Taking careful aim, he fired another shot into the bears head. Now, he only had one eye – but he kept coming.

Hoyt tried to turn and run, but the snow was too deep. He pulled himself over next to a small tree, then looked back to see the bear reaching for him. Dropping his rifle, he pulled his .45, firing pointblank into the bears throat, and open mouth until his gun snapped.

He tried to block the bear’s swing with his left arm thrown up in front of him. The bear’s right paw caught Hoyt’s coat sleeve at his shoulder, slamming his head against the tree. When he fell in the deep snow beside the tree, he could feel the blood running down the side of his face. He looked up to see the bear hovering over him, ready to tear into him.

His head was spinning and his eyesight was blurred, when he raised his right foot to kick the bear in its face. This was his last chance, and his boot heel landed solid against the bear’s snout then slid off the side of his bloody head. He felt the full weight of the bear when it fell on him, and he just knew this was the end...

“Come on, Man. You’re gonna make it. Come on, we gotta get you thawed out or you’ll freeze to death.”

He heard a man talking talking to him, jerking and pulling on his coat to wake him. He opened his left eye, but his right eye was swollen closed.

“My horse...”

“Your horses and mules are fine. Your prisoner is over there by the fire. I caught him trying to find the keys to his chains.”

“Who are you?” Hoyt asked.

The first thing Hoyt noticed about the man when he opened his one good eye, was the long jagged scar across the right side of his face, from his temple to his chin.

“U.S. Marshal Lon Wolfe, out of Alamosa. I see by your papers that you’re a Bounty Hunter, posing as a Special Deputy U.S. Marshal out of Phoenix ... Man, you’ve come a long ways from home just have the pleasure of traipsing through a blizzard on The Continental Divide.”

The marshal had managed to drag Hoyt over near the fire by his coat collar. He’d taken all the firewood out of the packsaddle and built a fire around a downed Aspen. Hoyt could feel the heat through his clothes, but his fingers were numb and stinging.

“Rub your hands in this snow. Don’t hold them over the fire too long. You may have frostbite as it is. Here, sip some coffee and hold the cup with both hands while I try to see how bad that cut is on your head.”

“You’re a Marshal? How did you find me?”

“We’ve been tracking that bear back and forth across this mountain for three days, when we heard your shots. He killed a rancher not far from here, while he was out tending his stock ... We’d have been here sooner, but the snow was too deep for our horses to make any time.”

“We?”

“My deputy is over there chopping more limbs off this downed tree so we can get you thawed out.”

“My fingers feel better, but my left arm hurts like hell.”

“Your arm is broken. I’ve put splints on it until we can get you down the mountain and get it set and wrapped up proper.”

The marshal and his deputy chopped two saplings down and used the tarp off a packsaddle to make a travois. With the travois poles tied on either side of Chelley, they headed down the mountain – with the Grizzly on the travois.

“I sent a telegraph message down to the Marshal’s Office in Phoenix, telling them of your battle with a Grizzly. I told them that you have the man you were tracking in custody, but you’ll be another week or so getting there with him.”

“Thanks Marshal, but I was hoping to leave here today or tomorrow.”

“Doc says you’re still too weak to travel. You may not know it, but you lost a lot of blood from that head wound.”