Black Bruin | Page 9

of the top and there ended at the
mouth of a burrow that had been tunneled down underneath.

The hunter got a long pole and prodded about in the tree-top until he
satisfied himself that there was nothing formidable inside. Then setting
his gun against a tree trunk, he crawled into the burrow.
He had entered only three or four feet, when a weak, pitiful whine
greeted his ears. "Just as I thought," he muttered. "There are cubs here."
A few feet farther down he found them,--two astonishingly small
bear-cubs. One whined pitifully and struggled to his feet as though in
anticipation of supper, but the other was cold and stiff. It had evidently
been dead for some time.
The excited bear-hunter took them both in his arms and clambered out
of the den, feeling well repaid for his search.
Holding the cub that was still alive under his coat for warmth and
protection from the wind, he hurried home, while the hound leaped
about him and sniffed suspiciously at his coat.
His wife was sitting in the cozy kitchen sewing, and occasionally
jogging the cradle, when he entered and, without a word of explanation,
dropped the live cub in her lap.
"O John," she cried, "what a dear little dog he is. Where did you get
him?"
"Under an old tree-top in the woods," he replied. "It isn't a puppy, it is a
bear-cub.
"Here is his brother," and he held up the dead cub for her inspection. "I
guess the old bear came round and stole your baby to take the place of
her dead cub. There are tracks behind the house where she came up to
the window and stood upon her hind legs and looked in. Sort of taking
inventory, as you might say."
The woman went to the north kitchen window and to her great
astonishment saw that her husband had not been joking. There were
bear-tracks, and also two large paw-prints upon the window-sill that

told of a silent watcher of their domestic fireside.
A box was brought from the wood-shed and lined with an old blanket,
and milk was warmed for the little wilderness baby, that had found its
way so strangely into the farmhouse.
It was ravenously hungry and the man held it, while the wife poured
warm milk, a few drops at a time, into its mouth. At first the process
was rather laborious, but after a few hours the young bear would gulp
down the warm milk gladly.
Thus the bear-cub began his life at the farmhouse, lying in a warm box
behind the stove and drinking milk from a saucer. Most of his days and
nights he spent in sleeping, as is the wont of young animals, and this
was nature's sure way of making him strong and sleek.
The following Saturday the farmer went to town, where he was much
lionized as a bear-hunter and the whole story had to be told over and
over to each one he met. That night at the supper-table he remarked to
his wife that he had seen Dave Holcome, a famous trapper and
bear-hunter in his day, and had asked him what he thought about the
bear's stealing the baby.
"What did he say?" inquired the wife, all interest.
"Wal," drawled her husband, in exact imitation of Dave, "bars are
durned curus critters, almost as curus as women. You can hunt and trap
'um all your life an' think you know all about 'um, then along will come
a bar that will teach you difrunt. There ain't no use in makin' rules
about bar ettyket, cuz ef you do, some miserable pig-headed bar will
break 'um all ter smash, jest like this 'ere one did. But I think there is a
good deal surer way uv accountin' for the critter's action than what you
say. It's my idee that he mistook the baby for a young pig."
"The wretch," exclaimed the indignant wife, but her husband only
laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks.
"You didn't get any mail, did you?" she asked, when his mirth had

subsided.
"Yes, I did," he answered. "Here is a letter. I had forgotten all about it."
The letter proved to be from a town thirty or forty miles to the north,
and was as follows:
"DEAR SIR: I have been much interested in reading in our local paper
the account of a strange visitor that you had at your house early in the
week. I think I may be able to shed some light on that extraordinary
event.
"About eight years ago I secured a bear-cub when it was still small and
brought it up in my household. There was at the same time in my
family a baby to which the cub became much attached.