The Youths Companion | Page 2

to go for human flesh. Roots, nuts, berries,
bugs, and any small game they can pick up, satisfies their humble
appetite as a general thing.
"But they're amazin' fond of honey, and there's no end of stingin' they
won't stand for the fun of robbin' a bee-nest. They're omnivourous as a
hog."
The spectators smiled, while some one remarked,---
"You mean omnivorous."
The hostler winked his one eye knowingly, and replied.---
"I mean omnivourous," with a still stronger accent on the wrong
syllable. "I found the word in a book, and it means eathin' or devourin'
all sorts. That's what a bear does. He likes everything, and a good deal
of it. He can't live on suckin' his paws all winter, neither. That's a
foolish notion."
"Do you mean to say a bear doesn't hibernate?" I asked.
"He hibernates,--yes. I believe that's what they call it," replied the

one-eyed hostler. "He lies curled up kind o' torpid sometimes in winter;
but what he really lives on then is his fat.
"Fat is fuel, so ter speak. He lays it up in the fall, and burns it out the
the winter. He goes into his cold-weather quarters plump, and comes
out lean; but it's only in very cold weather that he keeps so quiet. In
mild, open winters he's out foragin' around, and when there comes a
warm spell in the toughest winter, you may see him. He likes to walk
out and see what's goin' on, anyhow."
The one-eyed hostler leaned against the pole, stroked Pomp's fur
affectionately, and continued somewhat in this style:
"Bears are particularly fond of fat, juicy pigs, and once give 'em a taste
of human flesh,--why, I shouldn't want my children to be playin' in the
woods within a good many miles of their den!
"Which reminds me of Old Two Claws, as they used to call him, a bear
that plagued the folks over in Ridgetown, where I was brought up,--wal,
as much as forty year ago.
"He got his name from the peculiar shape of his foot, and he got that
from trifling with a gun-trap. You know what that is,--a loaded gun set
in such a way that a bear or any game that's curious about it, must come
up to it the way it p'ints; a bait is hung before the muzzle, and a string
runs from that to the trigger.
"He was a cunning fellow, and he put out an investigatin' paw at the
piece of pork before trying his jaws on it; so instead of gettin' a bullet
in the head, he merely had a bit of his paw shot away. There were but
two claws left on that foot, as his bloody tracks showed.
"He got off; but this experience seemed to have soured his disposition.
He owed a spite to the settlement.
"One night a great row was heard in my uncle's pig-pen. He and the
boys rushed out with pitchforks, a gun and a lantern. They knew what
the trouble was, or soon found out.

"A huge black bear had broken down the side of the pen; he had seized
a fat porker, and was actually lugging him off in his arms! The pig was
kicking and squealing, but the bear had him fast. He did not seem at all
inclined to give up his prey, even when attacked. He looked sullen and
ugly; but a few jabs from a pitchfork, and a shot in the shoulder,
convinced him that he was making a mistake.
"He dropped the pig, and got away before my uncle could load up for
another shot. The next morning they examined his tracks. It was Old
Two Claws.
"But what sp'ilt him for being a quiet neighbor was something that
happened about a year after that.
"There was a roving family of Indians encamped near the settlement,
hunting, fishing, and making moccasins and baskets, which they traded
with the whites.
"One afternoon the Red-Sky-of-the-Morning, wife of the
Water-Snake-with-the-Long-Tail, came over to the settlement with
some of their truck for sale. She had a pappoose on her back strapped
on a board; another squaw travelled with her, carrying an empty jug.
"Almost within sight of Gorman's grocery, Red-Sky took off her
pappoose and hung it on a tree. The fellows around the store had made
fun of it when she was there once before, so she preferred to leave it in
the woods rather than expose it to the coarse jokes of the boys. The
little thing was used to such treatment. Whether carried or hung up,
pappoosey never cried.
"The squaws traded off this truck, and bought, with other luxuries of
civilization, a gallon of whiskey. They drank out of the jug, and then
looked at more goods. Then they drank again, and