Mattie Mitchell by Gary Collins Page B

difficult, and if the bear was in the area, an unusual
sound would alert it and make it that much more vigilant. Mattie
knew no one had been here since he had left several months
ago. He hoped the bear was feeling safe and, with a full belly,
lethargic.
    Downwind and off to the side of the talus was a thick copse
which he hoped would conceal him on his way up to the ledge.
When he approached it he found it did indeed provide some
cover. This was a much easier way up over the ridge.
    But the bear had thought so, too. Twisting its way through the
gnarled brush and tangled trees was its well-used trail. It wasn’t
easy going for a man of Mattie’s height. The bear, walking on all
fours, had fashioned a trail fairly close to the ground. Besides,
Mattie considered, he would surely leave his man scent, no
matter how hard he tried to disguise it. He decided to abandon
this course of action.
    It was hard, slow going, but he stealthily made his way upthrough the ravine, parallel to the bear lead. The low scrub spruce
and thorny bushes struggled for growth beneath short, twisted,
naked yellow birches. Here in the relative shelter of the cliff there
was no more than a skim of snow.
    The floor of the steep ravine was strewn with rocks of all
sizes, with only a sparse layer of wet, clinging soil. This was a
snarly, tangled place to get through quietly, but he finally reached
the edge of the boulder train above, where no trees grew.
    At first he thought he had been mistaken as he peered
carefully out of his cover. When he had been here last there had
been at least seven feet of snow on the ground. The place looked
different now, as he knew it would. But then he smelled the
heady bear odour, and with his nose directing him, he saw the
den’s opening.
    The hole between the tumbled grey boulders looked bigger
than it had in the winter. The bear had dragged a pile of debris and
spread it all around the entry. Birch trees the thickness of Mattie’s
forearm had been broken and chewed off and dragged to the site.
Green fir saplings, as well as fir boughs torn from low-hanging
trees, last year’s dried boughs with brown needles clinging to
them weakly, clumps of yellow-green moss and fallen leaves,
mud, and a few rocks littered the area. All was in readiness for
the bear to crawl inside, pull the debris over the opening, and rest
up for the coming winter.
    This was a cleverly chosen place for the animal to hibernate.
The small space between the opening and the gathered refuse
was angled toward the den. The beast would merely have to reach
out, and with one easy pull, the debris would tumble toward the
“doorway.” The falling snow would not only disguise its winter
resting place, but seal the bear from the outside world for months.
    All of this Mattie could see from his hidden vantage point.
He had seen many such places before, but he had never witnessedsuch a large pile or such large items comprising such a collection
before. This was no ordinary bear! He was sure of it.
    He had not been too late. He was right about that. The bear
had not yet crawled into its den.
    But Mattie would find out that he was wrong about that.
    All was quiet, save for the swish of wind searching through
the green trees and the rustle of leaves fluttering down through
bare branches. Somewhere in the valley below him a raven
croaked a few times and then was silent. Then the wind suddenly
breezed up and it started to snow.
    He checked his old Martin Henry rifle. It was loaded with one
long, brass-coated bullet. He considered pulling the hammer to
full cock. This bear would not give him much time. Still, the old
rifle had seen better days. The cock-spring had weakened over
the years and, when fully cocked, could not be depended on to
“stand cock.” He pulled the hammer to “half dog,” put an extra
bullet in the palm of his left hand, and, holding the big gun in his
right hand, settled down to wait.
    The evening wore on and still