The Little Bear who Grew
I was standing at the door of the office one afternoon in August. Theoffice was on Main Street,--a thoroughfare fronting railroad tracks anda long strip of fenced grass, dotted with newly planted trees, calledthe "park,"--in a North Dakota town. It was hot. I mean, hot. Downthat long thin street the shadows of false-fronted stores lay like blueslag on molten iron. Nothing moved: this particular metropolis-to-beof the Northwest was given over to heat and silence. Yet it wasn'tmuggy, sea-coast heat that turns bone and muscle into jelly--it was apassion of sun-power, light and heat together.
Just to be on a horse out in it over the prairie swells was to tastethe flavour of adventure. But no such thing for me. I had to takecare of the office. A thermometer inside that office marked onehundred and fourteen degrees. Had it been inside of me it would havemarked three hundred and fourteen degrees.
I shall not tell the series of injustices that obliged me to stay inthat hencoop, while the rest of the force went gleefully up the line toattend a ball game. I didn't count for much, while the decision inregard to the one who stayed rested in the hands of Fate. It was themanager's own pack of cards I cut. I can recall the look ofsophisticated astonishment those rascals wore at my persistent badluck. I found out afterwards that every mother's son of them hadbought his ticket the day before. They had faith in that pack ofcards. Most of the town had gone with them; this accounted for thedeserted village effect. Several days before this I sat up all nightreading H. Rider Haggard's "She." The desire to figure in remarkableevents had not yet worn off, but a more unlikely theatre of adventurethan that Main Street could not be conceived. I looked up and down thelength of it. Hark! What sound is that? 'T is the rattle of wheels,and the "plunkety-plunk" of a farm-horse's trot. Around the cornercomes an ancient Studebaker waggon drawn by an old horse, and in it twosmall boys are seated on a bushel basket--hardly a crisis. I fell toenvying the small boys, for all that. They could go and come as theypleased; they were their own masters, free to do as they liked in theworld.
As if to show that this was, indeed, the fact, in the broadest meaningof the words, the two urchins suddenly leaped high in the air, utteringshrieks; they landed on the ground and scuttled across the park as fastas legs could carry them. Absolutely no reason for this performanceappeared to the eye. The horse stopped, turning his mild gaze afterthem, then swung his head until he saw me, at whom he gazed with thatexpression of complete bewilderment always so comical in an equineface. "Account for that, if you can," he said, as plainly as theprinted words could do it. Finding no solution in me, he shook hishead and blew his nose. He was a kind old horse, always willing tooblige, but to plan an independent campaign was beyond him, so he stoodjust where he was, probably saying, "Great is Allah!" to himself in theHouyhnhnm tongue, waiting for what was going to happen to get about it.The plot increased in thickness, for the bushel basket began amysterious journey toward the back of the waggon, impelled by an unseenpower. It was a curious thing to see in broad daylight. I felt quitea prickle down my spine as I watched it. Arriving at the end, over itwent, disclosing the secret. From out of that basket came a smallbear. I swallowed an ejaculation and looked at him. He, entirelyunabashed, returned my gaze--a funny little ruffian! On the end of hisspinal column he teetered, all four feet in the air, the cock of hishead irresistibly suggesting the tilt of a gamin's cap. His tonguehung waggishly out of his mouth, and a sort of loose, dissipated,tough, cynical humour pervaded his person, from the squint of hislittle eyes to the absurd post of his hind legs. There was less of theimmature bear about him than of the miniature bear. I suppose a youngwild animal is like a street Arab, in that he receives his worldlyknowledge with his milk.
He had on a collar and chain, whereby I recognised he was someone'sproperty. To clear this part of history, the two small boys had beenhired to take him to Mr. D----'s menagerie, when, after a struggle, hehad been ensconced beneath the bushel basket. They were not the happyyouths I had taken them for, these boys,--how often we envy the lot ofothers unwisely!--for they were obliged to sit on the basket in orderto retain their captive, dreading all the time what a moment'scarelessness brought to pass, an attack from beneath. When oneincautious foot ventured too near the basket, Mr. Bear promptly clawedand chewed it; hence the shrieks, and the flight.
Well, not wishing this piece of live stock to escape, I walked towardhim, affecting the unconcern necessary in approaching an animal. Hedid not retreat; he swayed on his spine and regarded me jeeringly. Igrabbed the chain and pulled. Instantly, he nailed me by the leg. Hehad nothing but milk teeth, or I should have been much the worse forthe encounter. As it was, he pinched like a vise with his stronglittle jaws, and I had all I wanted to pry him loose. I tried to holdhim at arm's length, but he turned inside of his baggy overcoat and bitand clawed until I gave that up. I then whirled him at the end of thechain. He flew through the air with spread legs until the chainsnapped, when he landed many yards away. He was up and off as soon ashe stopped rolling, and I after him. The boy who was running theclothing store several vacant lots from the office came to his door atthat moment, and, feeling that a bear hunt was more to his taste thantwiddling his thumbs in an empty store, he came along, too, and theflour office and the clothing store were left in the hands ofProvidence--fortunately there were no thieves in old-time Dakota.
In front was young Mr. Bear, boring a hole in the wind, and behind himtwo boys, coming strong, but not in his class for speed. Our quarrygained one block in three. We just rounded a barn in time to see himjump into a wood shed behind a real estate office.
I knew a cat with kittens lived in that wood shed, and strained myselfto reach there before the fun was over. However, there was ample time.The code of the animal duel is as formal and long-winded as anythingthe mind of man has devised. Probably everyone has seen two youngcockerels, standing with their bills together, apparently lost in aBuddhistic reverie, suddenly broken by violence. They are only anillustration. All animals have their ceremonial of battle, when it isfor the fun of fighting, pure and simple, with the dinner questioneliminated.
The weird war song of Mrs. Cat, pealing out from the cracks of the woodshed, assured us we would be repaid for our trouble, but the toneindicated that the fell moment had not arrived. We peered through achink. The cat was in a corner, her family around her. Her eyesroamed all over the wood shed, merely taking the bear in _en passant_.She seemed unconscious of the awful noise which ripped the air.
The bear, for his part, was unaware of the proximity of a yowling cat.He never so much as glanced in her direction, having found a verydiverting chunk of coal, which he batted about the floor. A singularthing was that, when the coal moved it always moved nearer the cat.
The cat prepared for trouble, after the manner of her kind, and thebear prepared to cause it, after the manner of his kind. Occasionally,when a blood-curdling screech from his antagonist rang upon hiseardrums, the cub would stop a moment and gaze pensively through andbeyond the end of the wood shed, as if, indeed, from far off, a certainsound, made filmy and infinitesimal by distance, had reached him. Thenhe would smile deprecatingly to himself, as if to say, "How easily I amdeceived!"
Excellent as was the feigned indifference of Mr. Bear, it must be bornein mind that he was opposed to an animal of parts. Our friend, thecat, was not a whit taken in by the comedy. When the time came for herto leap she was ready, to the last hair of her chimney-cleaner tail.She had been making most elaborate preparations all the while,stretching and retracting her claws, squirming her whalebone bodyflatter and flatter, her tail assuming majestic proportions, while herears disappeared in inverse ratio.
Nearer and nearer came the chunk of coal and the slouching little bear,a touch of caution in each pretended careless action. Awful and moreawful grew Grimalkin's battle plaint--her eyes blazed demoniacally.
By some subtle assurance, we humans were made aware that, on the floorof the wood shed, an imaginar
y deadline had been drawn by Mrs. Cat,and, when Ursus Minor advanced so much as the length of a claw beyondthat in his orbit, an incident would mark his career. You may believeme or not, but the little bear understood not only this much, but healso knew where that line lay. Fully a minute he tantalised us bycoquetting with it. He would advance recklessly, and we would say toourselves, "Now!" when, lo! he would turn at the fatal point, to lie onhis side and amuse himself by clawing at the chunk of coal.
Suddenly he boldly stepped across. An instant of numbing silence fell.A swish! A cat on a small bear's back. A scene impossible! A hairytornado, rolling, twisting, flopping, yelling, screeching, roaring, andhowling, tore, bit, scratched, clawed, and walloped all over the place.An epileptic nebula; a maelstrom that revolved in every way known toman at the same instant; a prodigy of tooth and claw. If that fightwere magnified a hundred times, a glimpse of it would kill; as it was,myself and the clothing store boy clung weakly to the wall and wept.
The cat's tough hide easily turned the bear's claws, and his teeth weretoo tiny to work mischief; while his thick, shaggy coat made pussy'skeener weapons ineffectual. As a consequence, the storm raged withunbridled ferocity, the motion of the foemen being so swift none couldtell who was getting the better of it. There was energy in that smallaction and a bitterness of sound altogether indescribable, the mews ofthe astounded kittens quavering shrilly and loudly through the generalfrenzy.
At length, in spite of his antagonist's agility, the bear managed toget his "holt," and puss, wrapped in his strong arms, was practicallywhipped; not without protest--she was a "last-ditch" warrior. The bearsettled back as grim and stolid as General Grant might have done, whilethe chivalry of the wood shed applied her hind claws to his waistcoat.However, the bear could do a little in this line himself. The effectwas that each tried unsuccessfully to walk up the other.
The "strangle hold" began to tell. Never shall I forget thedesperation in that cat's face as it appeared between the squeezingarms of the bear. Their attitude had such a resemblance to the"Huguenot Lovers" I have not been able since to look at that celebratedpicture with proper countenance.
At this point, my companion and I came to the rescue. Finding allattempts at separating them by hand resulted in the usual wages of thepeacemaker, we grabbed the chain and hauled the war to the pump. Thepump was only a short distance way, yet it took us several minutes tomake the trip, as every time we turned and gazed at them, their rigidadherence to their relative positions, no matter what condition as awhole this mode of locomotion caused them to assume, and the leering,bourgeois complacency of the victorious bear, contrasting with thepatrician despair of the vanquished, caused such a weakness to comeover us that we had to sit upon the ground for a while.
Water is the universal solvent. About half a minute under the pumpformed the solution of this problem. A wet and skinny-looking cat, herelegance departed, streaked back to the wood shed and her offspring,while a sober and bedraggled little bear trotted behind his captors toMr. D----'s menagerie.
This was my introduction to this bear. We called him "Cat-thumper,"after the Indian fashion of christening a child from some markedexploit or incident in his career. This became contracted to"Thumper," an appropriate title, for, with the fat pickings of therestaurant, his bearship grew with a rapidity that made it a puzzle howhis hide contained him.
Under these genial conditions Thumper developed humour. It becamepossible for one to romp with him, and in the play he was careful notto use his strength. So exemplary became his conduct that his owner, aman who never could learn from experience, or even from Billy Buck,decided to take him on Main Street. Mr. D----'s novelties were astanding menace to the security of the town and his own person as well.The amount of vanity that fat little man possessed would have supplieda theatrical company. One of his first acts, on entering a town, wasto purchase the fiercest white hat, and the most aboriginal buck-skinsuit to be obtained, and then don them. Almost the next act on thepart of his fellow-townsmen was to hire a large and ferocious looking"cow-puncher" to recognise in Mr. D---- an ancient enemy, and make avicious attack upon him with blank cartridges and much pomp andcircumstance. Still it had no permanent effect on Mr. D----. Badinagecould not wither him nor cussing stale his infinite variety. With allhis exasperating traits, he had an impassable child-like faith in hisdoings and a soothing influence that made one smile when one wanted tocry.
The passage up street was made with no happening worthy of note except,of course, that other travellers gave him a wide berth (to Mr. D----'sextreme gratification) until they came to the butcher shop. HereThumper's first move was to steal a fine tenderloin from the block, andswallow it whole.
"Ye're!" yelled the proprietor, an ex-Indian scout, "whatcher doin'there? Take that critter out of here!"
"I'm willing to pay for the meat," replied Mr. D----, with dignity.
"That's all right, too," retorted the proprietor, "but I promised it toMr. Smith, and it's the only one I've got. How are you going to squarethat? What do you mean by toting a brute like that around, anyhow?" hewound up with increasing choler.
"I cannot see but what I have a perfect right to take with me anyanimal or animals I choose!" said Mr. D----.
"Not into this shop, by Jingo!" said the proprietor, reaching under thecounter. "Now you sneak him out of here, quick, or I'll shoot him."
"Very well," said Mr. D----, bowing, but red, "very well. Come,Thumper!"
Thumper was in no mind to move. He liked the situation. Mr. D----pulled on the chain, and Thumper overlooked it. A small crowd gatheredin front of the door and encouraged Mr. D---- by calling, "Pull hard,the man says!" "Now, altogether, yee-hoooo!" and similar remarks. Ihave always felt that a bear enjoys a joke. In this case I am sure ofit. Showing no bad temper, he simply refused to budge, and, by thistime, when he had made up his mind, the decision was final, as far asany one man was concerned. Mr. D----'s temper went by the board; itwas an embarrassing situation. "Come out of that!" he cried, with asharp jerk at the chain.
The look of irritation vanished from the proprietor's face. "Why don'tsome of you fellers help the gentleman out with his bear?" he asked.Thereupon the spectators took a hand and Thumper was dragged into thestreet. Evidently he thought this one of the usual frolics to which weboys had accustomed him; for, once upon the sidewalk, he began toprance and gambol in the graceful fashion of his kind. It so happenedthat the nurse-girl of the mayor of the town, a huge Swede woman asbroad as she was long (which is almost hyperbole), came trundling hercharge up the board walk at the precise moment that Thumper bowled overa gentleman in front and came plainly to her view.
One Norwegian war-whoop and away she galloped, the perambulator beforeher, as it was not in the mind of the Vikingess to desert her duty.Screeching, she tore up the walk, the carriage bouncing and rattling,and the baby crowing with delight. An Indian stepped out of a storedirectly in front of her. Him Telka rammed with such fury that helanded on his neck in the road, with his feet in the air. But, as heregained his balance, resentment was drowned in unbounded amazement."Wakstashoneee!" he said, "wakstashoneeeee!" which is the limit in theSioux tongue. Never had the Dakota warrior expected to see the daywhen he would be made to bite the earth by a Swede woman and a babycarriage. Around the corner for home whirled Telka, making the turnlike a circus horse. Arriving at the house, she placed one fairy footagainst the door with such spirit that the lock-socket hit the oppositewall, picked up carriage and baby and went upstairs with them threerises to a leap. At the top she burst into a wild oratory of "tanks"and "Eenyens" and "beejjeerens" and "yoomps," scaring her mistress intothe belief that the Sioux had attacked the town in force--an event shehad long anticipated.
Thumper was led back to his pole in the park, and fastened with anox-chain, this step being taken at the request of an informal committeeof citizens. "Chained bear or dead bear" was their ultimatum, for,while they enjoyed Telka's performance, they didn't propose to make
ita custom to obtain their fun from frightened women. So Thumper'sfreedom of the city lasted but a day. To make amends for this, we boysused to go in and tussle with him more often than before. The play wasthe bright spot in the life of the captive. He would begin his doubleshuffle of joy whenever a group of boys made their appearance. Atfirst, this went well enough. As I have said, the bear's naturerevealed its better side, under the benign influence of plenty to eat,and I cannot remember that he once took advantage of his vast andgrowing strength. Mr. D---- encouraged the performances, as themenagerie's purpose was to attract the attention of travellers who hada half-hour's wait at the station, and thus to spread the fame of hisrailroad eating-house. But misfortune came, through the applause ofthe passengers. Several young men of the town embraced the opportunityto show off. One of these, a brawny young six-foot Irishman named Jim,used to punch old Thumper pretty roughly, when he had a large audience.Jim was neither a bad-hearted nor cruel fellow; he simply had a bodytoo large for his disposition. In the phrase of the West, he was"staggering with strength," and in Thumper he found a chance to workoff his superfluous nervous energy--also to occupy the centre of ourlocal stage for the brief time of train-stop. If it is love that makesthe world go round, certainly vanity first put it into motion. "All isvanity," said the Preacher. From the devoted astronomer's austerelifework to the twinkle of a fairy's glittering tinsel; from theglories of the first man up the battle-swept hill to the infamousassassin, all is vanity. Such a universal attribute must necessarilybe good, except in abnormal growth. Jim showed his overdevelopment ofthe faculty, while the abused Thumper modestly sat still and grew. Andstill he grew, and still he grew--with a quiet energy that made thefact that he had passed from a large bear to a very large bear go byunnoticed.
Several times, when Jim was showing more skill than Thumper, the memoryof a mauled cat came to my mind. The ursine look shot at Jim now andthen recalled it. I even went to the length of remonstrating, but itwas without effect. It was on a Sunday morning that Nemesis attendedto Jim's case. Circumstances were propitious. An excursion train,crowded with passengers, pulled up at the station. Jim had a new suitof black broadcloth, due to a temporary aberration of our local Solomonwho ran the clothing store. Because of this victory, Jim was in anextraordinarily expansive mood as he swaggered down the platform.
"I guess I'll try a fall out of the bear," he announced to hiscompanions, in a tone that informed all of his intention. Gaily heswung his long legs over the fence and advanced upon Thumper, who, by astrange coincidence, was poised on the end of his spine, with his feetin the air and his tongue lolling humorously out of his mouth, as whenI first made his acquaintance. The bear noted the approach from thecorner of his eye, stretched out his paws, examined them critically,seemed satisfied with the inspection, shook himself thoroughly, andresigned affairs to Fate.
Jim, stimulated by the remarks of the passengers and their eagerinterest in his doings, marched up to Thumper, struck a sparringattitude, and shuffled around, making sundry little passes and jabswhich the bear ignored.
"Punch him!" cried a voice in the crowd. Jim lunged; the bear ducked,lazily, but effectually, and the crowd laughed. Jim drove right andleft at his antagonist; the bear parried, ducked, and got away, untilthe crowd shrieked with merriment and the Irishman was furious. Helived to punch that bear, and, at length, he succeeded--square on theend of Thumper's snout. The bear sneezed, dropped his head, and staredfixedly at Jim.
"Run!" I yelled--alack! too late. Up rose Thumper to a paralysingheight, higher still went his trusty paw, and down it came, with aswinging, sidewise blow on the Irishman's neck.
I will maintain, by oath, affirmation, or combat, that Mr. Jim made sixcomplete revolutions, like a button on a barn door, before he struckmother earth with the dullest of thuds.
Ten to one that the town was out one Irishman would have seemed a goodbusiness proposition, and, to clinch the assurance, the bear began towalk on Jim. While the bear kneaded him like a batch of dough, some ofus woke and rushed to the scene of action.
I do not remember clearly how we got out of it. Some pulled at thebear's chain, and some grabbed Jim by whatever offered a hold. Atlength James was rescued, alive and weeping, though three-quarters ofthe new suit, including the most useful portion of the nether garments,remained in Bruin's paws as the spoils of victory. The crowd on theplatform was charmed. This was precisely the thing it had travelledmiles to see.
Poor Jim! He was a spectacle. Tears, scratches, and dust robbed hisface of all humanity; the scant remnants of the Sunday suit flutteredin the breeze; his shaking knees barely supported him. We gave him astimulant, a blanket, and some good advice. Mr. D----, for once in hislife on the right side of the question, was especially forward infurnishing the last necessity. So passed Jim from the field of hisglories, and, barring some scratches, bruises, and a stiff neck (not tomention the Sunday suit, as that loss really fell upon Solomon), he wasas well as ever inside of a few days. The only lasting result of theencounter for him was that, when the small boy of the town thirsted forexcitement, there would arise a cry of "Hey, Jim! bin down ter pet cherbear?" and then . . .
When the train departed, and the crowd had disappeared, I went down andlooked at Thumper. He seemed unchanged. I offered him a cracker; hestretched out the back of his paw, having learned that people shrankfrom the sight of his five-inch claws, in acceptance. This gobbled, heeyed me, as he leaned back against his pole, like an absurd fat man.Humour shone on the outside of him, but I fancied that, deep in hiseyes, I could see a dull red glow, Indian style. "Now," said I tomyself, "from the pangs of Jim I shall extract a moral lesson.Whenever I feel like showing off at somebody's expense, let me usecaution not to select a grizzly bear."
What Thumper thought no man can tell.
Red Saunders' Pets and Other Critters Page 5