CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Bear

Stuck in his bunk aboard the destroyer, Deke slept fitfully between bouts of nausea and dizziness from seasickness. He didn’t think that he would ever get used to life aboard a ship. Give him dry land any day.

When sleep did come, he was usually tormented by strange dreams or, sometimes, just by things he had worked hard to forget. One of those awful memories concerned the bear that had given him the scars that ran deep down his face and flank.

The bear must have come down from deep mountains sometime during the late summer. As autumn approached, he started stalking the farm fields and pastures, keeping to the shadows at dusk and dawn, taking what he could. He was a sly old beast, only glimpsed at a distance, but the farmers — most of them were also hunters who had tracked a bear or two — agreed that they had never seen such a big bear.

His hind paw left misshapen tracks that earned him the nickname “Ol’ Slewfoot.” When they went about their chores at twilight or in the darkness before dawn, they did so a little uneasily, knowing that the old bear was around.

Normally, no one worried too much about a bear. Dogs would run them off, or a shot fired into the air, but this bear didn’t scare so easily. He looked old — gray and grizzled and badly scarred along one side of his face, as though maybe the fur had been burned off in a forest fire and had never grown back. The disfigurement made him that much more frightening.

“He’s got something wrong with his back foot,” said Deke, who had seen the tracks behind the barn, where the bear had come prowling around the night before, setting the dogs to barking.

“Maybe he got caught in a trap,” Sadie said. “Why would an old bear come around here?”

“Winter is coming on. He’s hungry. I reckon it’s easier to steal some chickens or a pig than it is to find food in the mountains.”

Sadie shook her head. “If he eats our pig, we’re the ones who are gonna be hungry.”

“I ain’t gonna let that happen.”

Sadie looked at him doubtfully. She knew that Deacon wasn’t one to brag or boast. Then again, her younger brother was just a thirteen-year-old boy wearing their older cousin Jasper’s hand-me-downs, which were too big on him. Since Pa had died, he had done his best to be the man of the family, but he had a long way to go. She smiled. “Just don’t let that bear eat you.”

There were other things to worry about, such as getting through the approaching winter, bear or no bear. The whole country was in the grip of the Depression, hard cash as scarce as hen’s teeth, and it was even worse in the mountain valleys, where times never were all that good to begin with.

The mountain people scratched out the best living that they could from the thin-soiled, rocky fields, harvested a few vegetables from their gardens, raised a pig or two. Some families learned how to live for a week off a turnip or two during the lean times in early spring, when the winter stores began to run out and the garden hadn’t produced anything yet. Folks would scour the woods for anything edible, like pokeweed shoots.

But even the mountain people needed money for things like kerosene for their lanterns, proper shoes, and shotgun shells.

Most of the people had lived on this land for one hundred and fifty years, and they knew how to make do. But the land they lived on was often mortgaged, and they still needed money to pay the banks. More than a few farms had been mortgaged in hopes that when times improved, there would be money to pay it all off. The Cole family farm was one of those places.

And now the bear had arrived. He was like a shadow, a plague, come out of the depths of the mountains to haunt them.

Two days before Deke had seen the tracks, Old Man McGlothlin drove up to the farm in his rust bucket of a truck. Deke was splitting wood, and he put down the ax to watch the Model A truck approach. The truck was largely held together with baler wire, and each rut in the lane sent it shaking and rattling so much that Deke thought for sure that the old truck would suddenly disintegrate into a pile of scrap metal and bolts right before his eyes.

The truck rolled to a stop, still in one piece, more or less. The motor wheezed before going quiet, and McGlothlin got out.

“Howdy, Deacon,” Old Man McGlothlin said. His voice was friendly enough, but his face looked like it might crack if he smiled.

“Howdy, Mr. McGlothlin.”

“How y’all gettin’ on?”

“All right, I reckon.”

McGlothlin nodded. He was a withered old farmer, with his sons grown, his wife dead, and nobody left to help him work the land. Not a bad sort — just past his prime and lonely. His face was so expressionless that it might have been carved from wood. “That’s about the best anyone can expect,” he said. “Hard times.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Listen, I came around to tell you I saw that bear around my place.”

“The one people are calling Ol’ Slewfoot?”

“One and the same. He was coming around the chickens, and I ran him off with my shotgun. I think I done winged him. Last I saw of him, he was runnin’ in this direction.”

“Why didn’t you track him?” Deke asked.

McGlothlin took off his hat and scratched his sparse hair. “He’s an awful big bear, son. Like I said, I think he’s wounded. You corner a wounded bear like that—” He shook his head. “I ain’t as young or as quick as I used to be.”

“I could track him.”

For the first time, something like a smile crossed McGlothlin’s face. “I know you could, boy. But let’s just say that I’m too old for a bear hunt and you’re too young, and leave it at that. Anyhow, maybe that bear has gone on back up the mountain.”

“What if he ain’t done that?”

“Best thing to do is to steer clear of that bear, which is why I’m here to let you know I seen him. I wanted to warn you that Ol’ Slewfoot might come around here next. Don’t none of you go out alone for a while — and take a dog along and your gun. I know you can shoot. Your pa said you could shoot the eye out of a crow flying. But believe me, the sight of that bear can make a grown man shaky. Makes it hard to shoot straight.”

Deke stood a little straighter, although it was hard to tell in the baggy clothes. He hadn’t known that his pa had said that about him. “I’ll put the pig in the barn.”

“That bear will get that pig if he wants him, one way or another. You just make sure that bear don’t get you, or your sister or ma.”

“I ain’t scared of that bear.”

“I reckon you’re full of piss and vinegar, just like my boys was at your age.” The old farmer made a noise that might have been a chuckle. “Just keep in mind that Ol’ Slewfoot ain’t scared of you neither, son. You might even look like an easy meal to him. It’s only an old bear that would come around here, or maybe he’s ailing. The last thing you want to do is corner a bear like that.”

His warning delivered, McGlothlin gave Deke a nod, climbed into the rattletrap truck, and drove away.

* * *

The next day, sure enough, Deke had seen the tracks out behind the barn. Ol’ Slewfoot had come sniffing around. He’d certainly been expecting it, thanks to the warning from their neighbor. It would have been a whole lot better for them if the bear had just kept on his way. Maybe he had figured the Cole farm would be easy pickings.

Deke crouched down and placed his hand inside the track left by the damaged paw. He was surprised to see that the track swallowed up his hand. He stood up and tried his foot next, but the bear’s track was still larger. Nearby, he spotted a drop or two of blood. Wounded, all right. A big, wounded bear wasn’t good news.

After McGlothlin’s warning, he had started carrying the old Iver Johnson double-barreled twelve gauge around the farm with him. Both barrels were loaded with buckshot. He looked down again at the massive size of the tracks left by the bear’s paw. Two barrels. Two shots. If it came down to it, would that be enough? A couple of shotgun shells suddenly seemed like a puny thing compared to a bear.

He looked over his shoulder, feeling a ripple along his spine, but there was nothing to see but the empty fields crisscrossed by a few leaning fences. The dark line of woods began beyond the fields and sloped up toward the mountains. Maybe the bear had run off into those hills, but Deke didn’t think so. Ol’ Slewfoot would be hungry, and possibly mad with pain if he was wounded. Deke had an uneasy feeling, like maybe the bear was watching him right now from those trees, making up his mind to stay or retreat into the hills.

That night when the dogs started barking, he knew that he’d gotten his answer. A frightened squeal cut through the sound of the commotion outside.

“He’s after the pig!” Sadie said, wide eyed and angry. They both knew that the pig was their only hope of getting through the winter. Most families raised one up through the summer, feeding it scraps and slop, fattening it up.

Deke reached for the shotgun in the corner. “I’m going out there.”

“Not alone, you’re not!” Sadie took the rifle down from where it hung above the fireplace.

He didn’t bother to argue. It wouldn’t have done any good where Sadie was concerned. His sister was stubborn as a mule.

She was also a good shot — maybe even better than her brother. The Coles owned a shotgun and a hunting rifle. What they didn’t own was a lot of shells for either gun. Those cost money that they didn’t have. Each shot would need to count.

Still sitting at the table, Ma looked as though her thoughts were a million miles away. The presence of the bear on the farm didn’t seem to concern her. Since Pa had died, she had turned inward, growing quieter and somehow more childlike each day. The normal thing would have been to tell her children not to go out into the dark that was filled with the awful squeals of the pig and the excited yelping of the dogs.

Mutely, she watched her son and daughter standing by the door, guns in their hands, gathering their courage before going into the night to confront the bear. Nobody would have blamed them if they stayed in the house. In fact, you might say that was the smart thing to do under the circumstances. But avoiding danger wasn’t the Cole way.

Sadie followed Deke out the door.

Their two dogs were raising a ruckus down by the barn, and they ran in that direction.

They heard what sounded like boards being ripped aside, then more squeals from their pig, so high pitched that it hurt their ears. Had the bear already gotten to him?

Shouting to scare off the bear, Deke ran around the barn, shotgun at the ready. In the moonlight, he could see the hole in the back of the barn where the boards had been torn loose. The pig had gone quiet. That didn’t make any sense. With a sinking heart, Deke realized that the bear must have already made off with the pig. He realized that he could now hear the dogs barking off in the field.

“We’re too late!” Sadie cried out, her voice taut with anger. “He already took the pig!”

“Maybe we can get it back.”

“What are you talking about, Deke?”

“Come on,” he said.

He led the way toward the sound of the barking dogs. They weren’t letting the bear get away scot-free. Maybe, just maybe, they could get the pig back and salvage something from it. There was an outraged growl that must be from the bear. One of the dogs yelped — it sounded like their old hound, Boomer — then went quiet.

“Oh no,” Sadie said.

Deke ran faster, his feet light and sure-footed across the dark field. The night pressed in around them, and his eyes strained to see anything in the moonlight. Vaguely, he was aware of Sadie calling to him to come back, but he kept running.

Finally, he saw the bear, a heaving black lump even blacker than the darkness around it. Without thinking, his pumping legs carried him closer, and a savage sound came from his throat, a keening wail that was a mix of fear and outrage. Some would have called it a rebel yell.

Closer now, he could see the bear in the moonlight, the black lump coalescing into a creature that looked impossibly big. Its paws straddled the freshly killed pig. His outraged yell had gotten the bear’s attention. When the bear turned its grizzled muzzle toward Deke, he could see that it was wet and dripping with gore from the pig. The sight was made even more horrible because the bear’s face was scarred and hairless on one side, presumably burned, like some unearthly creature.

Deke raised the shotgun, but his heart hammered from all the running, and his arms wouldn’t hold the twelve gauge steady. Two shots, he reminded himself. That’s all you get.

Behind him, a gunshot split the night, taking him by surprise. Sadie had fired into the air, once, twice, hoping to scare off the bear. Their other dog, Banger, was still snarling at Ol’ Slewfoot and darting in to nip at him, but the bear paid him no more attention than he would give a mosquito. Another shadow lay in the frosty grass nearby, and Deke realized it was old Boomer’s lifeless form.

The bear held its ground and roared. He rose up on his hind legs. A full-grown black bear could stand over six feet high, and this one weighed at least four hundred pounds, looking nearly as broad as he was tall. He would have dwarfed a full-grown man, and Deke was just a boy.

“He killed Boomer!” Sadie cried. Anger seemed to get the best of her. She came up even with Deke and fired again, aiming right at the bear this time. The bear roared. He dropped to all fours, and for a moment it looked as if Sadie had gotten him.

“That was my last bullet. Shoot him, Deke. Shoot him!”

Deke raised the shotgun, looking for a good shot. If Sadie had hit the bear, it had only made him even more mad with pain. He rolled his massive head, roaring again.

And then Ol’ Slewfoot charged.

Right at Sadie.

A bear, even an old one, can move with lightning speed. All four hundred pounds of the bear exploded into motion, a furious mountain of pain, matted fur, yellow teeth, and claws like reaping hooks.

They couldn’t have outrun the bear even if they’d tried. Sadie seemed to brace herself, watching the bear come like she was daring it. She held the empty rifle like a club, standing her ground. The bear was headed right for her.

“Deke, shoot him!”

Deke stepped in front of his sister. He put the bead of the shotgun on the bear and fired.

Then the bear was upon him. It was like being hit by a hay bale fired from a cannon. He slammed to the ground, all the breath going out of him. He felt the bear’s claws raking him, tearing away his coat and shirt. There wasn’t any pain at first, even when he felt a claw snag a rib and snap it as easily as Deke might have broken a stick of kindling for the woodstove.

Through it all, he didn’t let go of the shotgun. One part of him registered that the bear was ripping him to pieces, while another part of him ignored that and focused on the shotgun. It was his only hope. The twelve gauge was all that mattered. He still had one finger through the trigger guard. One live shell in the chamber. If he could just get the muzzle turned into the bear, he would pull that trigger.

Sadie hadn’t run off. She was beating the bear with the rifle, shouting at him to let her brother go. Deke could hear her over the roaring that filled his ears.

The dog hadn’t given up, either, but was still biting at the bear, coming at him whenever the bear’s snapping jaws turned away.

Deke heard someone shrieking in pain and realized that he was the one doing the screaming.

Maybe Sadie and the dog kept the bear from immediately ripping him to shreds. He tried hard to maneuver the shotgun, but the weight of the bear’s body kept him pinned to the ground.

Then he smelled the bear’s hot breath, right in his face. It was like some awful dog’s breath, hot and fetid, stinking of rotting meat. That was when the bear’s jaws closed around his head.

He felt teeth grating across his skull, sliding over the bone, looking for a grip. The bear was going to pop his head open like a walnut. The paws shifted to hold him down while the bear’s jaws slid around to get a better hold, peeling his flesh away from the bone in the process. The sound of Deke’s own screaming intensified.

By turning its attention to his head, the bear had moved enough to give Deke some wiggle room. His side felt like it was on fire, as if the bear’s claws had been hot coals. Deke started to fade, but the bear shook his head for him, clearing it. Not yet. He tugged the muzzle of the shotgun up another inch and pressed the trigger. He heard the gun go off, but the blast was muffled by the mountain of bear crushing him to the ground.

At first, nothing happened. The bear kept working at his skull like a dog with a bone. Sadie kept hitting the bear, clubbing it in the head with the rifle butt. Then the bear’s jaws moved more slowly, like it was bored with him, or getting tired, and finally stopped.

Grunting with the effort, Sadie pulled him out from under the bear.

She was sobbing. “Oh, Deke, oh, Deke.”

“I’m all right,” he said, then slipped into a welcome blackness.

* * *

There was nothing for Sadie and his ma to do but sew him up and pray. Truth be told, the lion’s share of both tasks fell to Sadie. The country doctor came by and shook his head. The closest thing to a real hospital that could do surgery on Deke, maybe patch him back together, was more than fifty miles away. Old Man McGlothlin offered to take him in his truck, but they all knew the boy would never survive the ride. Nature would just have to take its course.

“I done warned him about that bear,” the farmer said.

Shaking his head, he went off to butcher what was left of the pig, skin the bear, and dig young Deacon’s grave.

For the next week, then two, Deke lingered. His life flickered and threatened to go out like a candle in a drafty room. He took his time dying. Autumn leaves filled the hole where he was meant to be buried. Without anyone knowing, Sadie cut off one of the bear’s claws and saved it as a talisman.

Instead of dying, Deke got stronger. The candle flame burned stronger. He came from hardy mountain stock, after all, and the young were resilient. Still, it was two months before he could get out of bed. He moved slowly, painfully, but the bones and muscles were knitting back together.

As for the scars, there was nothing much that anyone could do about that. Sadie and Ma rubbed bear grease on the angry red furrows to help them heal. The scars on his body were hidden easily by his shirt. New hair grew on his scalp. When he turned his face slightly away, he looked like the same old Deke. But on his left side, his face and ear remained badly mangled, a reminder of the bear.

Deke would live, but there was a price to pay. As if the physical injuries hadn’t been enough, all these years later, he still had nightmares about that bear. It was as if in taking the bear’s life, Ol’ Slewfoot had passed on its own scars and pain to Deke, like a dying curse. In the same way, the bear must have passed on some of its power and wild spirit.

On the ship, Deke tossed and turned in the narrow bunk, trying to get comfortable. After a while, he stopped fighting it, grabbed a blanket, and curled up in a corner of the deck. The breeze on deck helped to clear the fog of bad memories from his head. He was sure some squid would come along and roust him out, but until then, he let the night air wash over him as he finally slept.

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