cages where Spot and Ocelot were kept. They had kept so quiet that he
never suspected their nearness. But the Leopard and Jungle Cat had seen
him, and were watching him with flashing eyes.
As he snored and rolled around in his sleep, they kept their eyes
patiently and watchfully on him. Once a shaggy paw came close to Spot’s
cage, and he stealthily put out a fore-arm to see if he could reach it.
He fell short about an inch.
He withdrew his paw silently and resumed his watchful waiting. Ocelot
on the other side was equally interested in one of Buster’s fore paws.
It was within a few feet of his cage.
Buster rolled over and flung his legs out to their full length like an
animal stretching. The result was just what the two vengeful enemies
were waiting for. Spot reached through the bars of his cage and caught
the hind leg of Buster with his sharp claws, and Ocelot attacked one of
his fore-legs.
Buster was aroused from his sleep by sharp pains that seemed like a
thousand needles sticking in him. When he attempted to spring to his
feet he found himself a prisoner. Spot and Ocelot were tugging, tearing
and biting with all their might as if they would pull him apart and
haul him through the bars of their cages.
Taken at such a disadvantage, Buster for a moment was helpless. Then
the pain became so severe that he brought all of his powerful muscles
into play, and jerked with such force that both cages came tumbling
over on top of him.
The sudden upsetting of their cages startled Spot and Ocelot so that
they jumped back in fright. Buster was immediately on his feet,
rolling the cages around as if they had been made of jackstraws. With
a lightning blow through the bars he struck Spot a whack that sent him
reeling backward. Then before he could recover, Buster sprang around on
the opposite side and knocked him back. For a moment it looked as if
he would break through the cage and kill Spot.
When the attendants ran up, Buster was shaking Ocelot’s cage in a
vain endeavor to get at him. The Jungle Cat was so frightened that he
shivered and whined for mercy. Buster’s anger could not be quieted
until Chiquita came up. She patted him, and led him away to bind up his
wounds. The Leopard and Jungle Cat were glad to see him go. In trying
to get revenge on Buster they had been punished nearly as much as he.
“I should have remembered the Old Lion’s advice,” Buster said to
himself when Chiquita bound up his wounds. Then looking at her, he
added: “But there’s some good in everything. I wouldn’t have such a
tender nurse if I wasn’t wounded.” And he smiled with satisfaction.
Next will come the story of how Buster was caught in a railroad wreck.
STORY XI
BUSTER IN A RAILROAD WRECK
The circus was preparing to move into its winter quarters, and it was
the confusion of packing that caused Buster to get mixed up with Spot
and Ocelot in their cages. His injuries were very slight, and within a
few days after Chiquita had bound them up his legs were as good as new.
He felt a little angry at the Leopard and Jungle Cat for attacking
him when fast asleep, but Buster wasn’t the kind to nurse a grudge.
When his wrath cooled a little he actually laughed at the occurrence.
Strolling outside to where the cages were standing, he grinned at the
Leopard.
“You got a good dig at me, Spot,” he said, “but with that last cuff I
gave you I guess we can call it even. Head ache yet?”
Spot didn’t reply, but paced his narrow cage in restless
dissatisfaction. Buster turned to the Jungle Cat.
“How about you, Ocelot! Got over your scare yet? I didn’t touch you,
but you looked as scared as a rat in a trap when I shook your cage.”
Ocelot showed the same silent contempt and refused to reply other than
with a low snarl. Buster turned to Old Lion.
“The only cheerful one I find in this group is you, Old Lion,” he
added. “Spot and Ocelot don’t look happy, and Timber the Wolf acts as
if he had an ingrowing pain in his stomach. How about you?”
“I’m always cheerful,” replied Old Lion. “That’s why I’ve grown bald
and toothless, and lived to a good old age. Spot and Ocelot will die
young if they don’t change their manners. So will you, Buster.”
“Why,” stammered Buster, “I do try to be cheerful. I didn’t know I was
anything else.”
“That may be,” replied Old Lion, “but you’re too ready for a fight.
Every battle you get in shortens your life by so many days.”
“I don’t fight unless I’m attacked,” was the quick reply.
“I didn’t know the animals attacked you the other night in the circus.
You started the fight.”
“Yes, but not until after they had attacked Chiquita,” Buster said
indignantly. “I had to protect her, for she was a friend of mine.”
“Are you going to fight to protect all your friends in this world?”
asked Old Lion sleepily. “If you do, I predict you will die young. Now
I must go to sleep, for we begin our long journey soon, and I do hate
riding on a train. It rasps my nerves.”
Buster never knew how seriously to take the Old Lion’s words, but he
was a companionable and harmless old fellow, and sometimes rambled on
just to hear himself talk. He was getting so old that talking was the
easiest thing to do, and between eating and sleeping that was about all
he did. Sometimes he appeared in the circus as a fierce old lion, who
had killed any number of keepers, but it was growing harder and harder
for him to assume the pose. He wasn’t fierce looking at all, except
when he roared, and that was such an exertion he seldom did it unless
prodded by the attendants.
“How does it feel to ride on a train?” Buster asked when he saw that
the Old Lion was going to drop off asleep right before him.
“How does it feel?” he drawled. “Why, it feels as if all the bones in
your body were rattling, and when the train stops--and it’s stopping
all the time when it isn’t going--you stand on your head and then on
your tail, and if you’re lucky you don’t die of fright.”
“It must be a wonderful experience,” remarked Buster.
“It is, and you won’t enjoy it. I don’t know what trains were invented
for unless it was to torture those who ride in them. But when we get
there we’ll have a long rest.”
“Where?” asked Buster.
“Where we’re going, and when you get there you wonder why you came, and
where you are. Now do you understand?”
Buster laughed good-naturedly, for his quizzing was making the Old Lion
irritable. He wanted to sleep and Buster strolled away, leaving him to
enjoy his nap.
The next day the animals were taken aboard the train. Some of the
harmless ones were led there and tied to posts in box cars, and others
like Ocelot and Spot were lifted aboard in their stout cages. No chance
could be taken with them.
Buster found himself in a small compartment of a baggage car, with
Chiquita occupying a seat just forward of him. She trusted him so much
that she liked to have him near her. But as he had never been on a
railroad journey before he was fastened in the car by a chain.
“You might forget yourself, Buster, or get excited, and try to jump off
when the train was moving,” she said to him, when chaining him up. “It
isn’t because I don’t trust you. You understand that, don’t you?”
Buster nodded his head, as she patted him, and looked at the chain.
It was not a very strong one, and he smiled at the thought of what he
could do to it if he wanted to escape. He could snap it in two with one
jerk of his powerful body.
The train started finally, and Buster was as interested and excited as
a child on her first railroad journey. The jolting and rattling began
almost at once. He recalled Old Lion’s words, and wondered if he was
groaning in agony. Such rolling and jerking were enough to rattle Old
Lion’s teeth loose. And Spot and Ocelot! How did they like the noise
and confusion?
The train steamed along slowly at first, and then faster. Through
a window in the baggage car Buster could see the houses and trees
flashing past as if they were all running in the opposite direction.
It was a funny sensation. Instead of being frightened by it, Buster
enjoyed it.
“I never ran so fast in my life,” he said to himself. “Even Loup the
Lynx couldn’t run as fast as this.”
He stopped and scowled. He never thought of Loup without growing angry.
The Lynx had treated him in a cowardly, cruel way, and Buster somehow
wanted to punish him for it. But there seemed little prospect of his
ever meeting the Lynx again.
“Oh, well,” Buster sighed, “I can’t spoil my temper thinking of
something that happened in the past.”
Still right down in his heart he had a great desire to go back to the
woods where he had been born. Perhaps his mother was alive yet, and he
would dearly like to see her again. How surprised she would be to find
him grown up, fully as big as she, and far more powerful!
Suddenly in the midst of these thoughts there came a grinding shriek
outside, and the most fearful of explosions. Buster raised his head to
listen, and then he was thrown against the opposite side of the baggage
car with such force that the chain snapped. Everything began to break
and fall down upon him, the whole roof of the car collapsing.
Stunned by the fall, and unable to understand what had happened, Buster
lay there a moment in silence. Everything was quiet after that awful
noise, but wild shrieks of Ocelot, Spot and other animals soon filled
the air. Then came the deafening hiss of steam, and shouts and cries
of men.
What had happened! Buster was curious to know what all this noise
meant, and finding himself loose, with no roof over him, he climbed out
of the wreck. It was dark outside, but there were many lights flashing
around.
Buster walked down the track where a group of men were at work. They
paid no attention to him, and he sat down to wait. Chiquita would come
along soon to claim him. But he waited and waited, and nobody paid any
attention to him. Finally, he got up and wandered off in the fields,
and before he stopped he was lost and couldn’t find his way back again.
“I think I’ll sleep here until morning,” he said, seeking a good
resting place under a tree. “Then I’ll find my way back to the train.”
But it wasn’t the train he found. It was the little girl who had given
him candy that day he danced for pennies.
STORY XII
BUSTER MEETS THE LITTLE GIRL AGAIN
When Buster woke the next morning the sun was just peeping above the
trees. He had slept so soundly that he couldn’t recall right away all
that had happened the previous night. He opened his eyes, and was
surprised when he found that nothing around him was familiar.
He grunted and rose to his feet, blinking at the sun. Then it all
returned to him. He remembered the jolt and crash, and the splintering
of the roof of his car. He rubbed his head to see if the bruise still
hurt him, and winced when it pained him.
“I wonder what happened to the Old Lion,” he said, grinning. “He must
have lost all his teeth last night.”
Then he thought of Chiquita. If she was in the wreck, too, she may have
lost something more than her teeth. Suppose she had lost her life! This
thought grieved Buster.
“I must go back and find out,” he said. “She’ll miss me.”
He waddled away through the bushes until he came to a road that was
unfamiliar to him. Which way did he go to reach the railroad? He
started up it, but hadn’t gone far before he saw a man approaching,
carrying a basket on his arm. Buster was less alarmed than the man
apparently, for with a shriek of terror the latter dropped his basket
and ran up the road so fast that he was soon out of sight.
“What a foolish thing to do,” laughed Buster. “He must have had an evil
conscience or he wouldn’t be frightened like that.”
He waddled up to the basket the man had dropped. One sniff at its
contents made his heart jump with joy. It was filled with nice fresh
bread, rolls, and two blackberry pies.
Buster didn’t consider it stealing. The man had left the basket, and it
belonged to any one who found it. He was very hungry, but bear-like or
boy-like (I don’t know which to call it) he began with the blackberry
pies instead of the bread. He ate them up rapidly, stuffing them in his
mouth with both paws. When they were gone he looked through the basket
for more.
The bread didn’t taste nearly so good after the pies, but Buster was
still very hungry, and, not finding any more dessert, he began slowly
munching the bread. If there had been soup, I suppose, he would have
ended his meal with that.
After eating a dozen rolls, and one loaf of bread, he felt better. A
noise up the street, accompanied by loud shouting, suddenly made him
stop and listen. Perhaps the man who owned the basket was returning
with help.
Buster decided that he wouldn’t wait until the men appeared, and taking
a loaf of bread in each of his front paws he climbed over the fence
and disappeared in the woods. Long before the men reached the spot he
had made his way into the heart of a big swamp where he sat down and
finished his meal.
He felt so much better by that time that he took a long drink from the
brook, and then resumed his journey. He came out of the swamp on the
opposite side, and seeing a hill climbed to the top. He hoped to get a
view of the railroad from there.
But when he reached it he saw no signs of it. There was a small cluster
of houses on his right, a swamp and woods behind him, and open country
on his left, with here and there a farm house. Buster decided to keep
away from the village.
The farm houses attracted him, for he could hear the crowing of a
rooster off in that direction and the cackling of geese. There was the
moo of a cow and the neighing of a horse from one barn-yard, and the
barking of a dog from another.
“I won’t bother the dog,” Buster said, keeping away from that
farm-yard. “They’re harmless, but very annoying.”
He waddled across a field and climbed a fence until he stood in the
barn-yard of the nearest farm. After reaching the barn he poked his
head in the open doorway. A boy was in there milking a cow. Buster
watched the streams of milk, and a sudden desire to taste milk again
made him forget all caution. He stepped across the threshold, a
pleasant grin on his face, and a rollicking smile in his eyes.
But the boy didn’t see anything friendly in either the grin or the
twinkling eyes. When he glanced up and caught sight of Buster, he sat
on his milk stool as if paralyzed, and then recovering himself he let
out a shrill cry and darted for the opposite door. He disappeared like
a flash, leaving the milk pail behind him.
“How foolish of him!” said Buster. “I wouldn’t hurt him!”
He picked up the milk pail and held it to his lips. There was a gurgle,
gurgle as the milk ran down his throat, and it never stopped until
three whole quarts were emptied in his stomach.
“That makes me feel better,” he said, rubbing his fat stomach. “I’m so
full now I can hardly walk. I’m sleepy, too.”
The hay-mow overhead attracted him. How pleasant it would be to rest
and sleep there! He was going to climb up the ladder for this purpose
when a great noise outside alarmed him. He peeked out, and saw a
big crowd of men and boys armed with sticks, axes, pitchforks and
shot-guns, running toward the barn.
Buster decided to leave, for he had no desire to meet the crowd.
While his enemies came in the front door, Buster ran out of the back
one, crossed an orchard, and reached a field beyond before he was
discovered. He had a long start of them, but when they caught sight of
him again they began to blaze away with their shot-guns.
Buster was an excellent runner, and he made good time. Ahead of him was
a bigger house, with a wide lawn in front, and a garden in back. Buster
wasn’t going to enter this place, but another crowd of men appeared in
front of him. If he kept on he would run right into their arms.
Buster darted to the right, crossed the lawn and reached the back of
the house. There was no one around, and Buster hunted for a hiding
place. There was an open window over his head on the second story of
the house, and a low shed leading up to it.
Buster suddenly decided that was his best hiding place, and up the shed
he climbed, scrambling to the roof and crawling across this to the open
window. He looked inside, and seeing no one he entered.
He was breathing hard, for after eating so much, his exertions told on
him. This noise must have awakened the little sleeper on the bed, for
suddenly she rose up and startled Buster so that he nearly fell down in
a faint. He supposed the room was empty, and here was a young person
staring at him. He stared back, grinning foolishly. He felt very much
like a boy who had been caught stealing.
Then to his surprise the girl clapped her hands, and said: “Oh, I
believe you’re Buster! Yes, I know you are! And I’m so glad!”
Until then Buster hadn’t recognized the little person. Now he
remembered her. It was the little girl who had offered him a stick of
candy that day he danced for pennies on the street.
But what pleased Buster more than anything else was her joy. She wasn’t
a bit afraid of him! She wasn’t going to run away and scream for help.
She wouldn’t hand him over to the men pursuing him with shot-guns. What
a relief to him this was! She was surely his friend, and would protect
him just as Chiquita had done so many times. He grinned with pleasure,
and waddled toward the bed.
How the little girl outwitted the men, and saved Buster from them, will
be told in the next story.
STORY XIII
BUSTER AND THE LITTLE GIRL
Instead of showing fear when Buster approached the bed, the little
girl held out a hand, and when he was near enough she took one of his
shaggy paws and patted it. This seemed natural enough to Buster, for he
could not understand why any one should be afraid of him, and Chiquita
had done the same thing many times; but to most little girls perhaps
it would seem like a brave and fearless thing. This little girl like
Little Red Riding-Hood was not afraid of bears or wolves until they
tried to eat her up.
“I’m glad to see you, Buster,” she said with quaint gravity. “But how
did you ever get here?”
Buster grinned and turned his head toward the open window. The little
girl followed his gaze, and instantly understood.
“Oh, you came through the window,” she added. “That makes it so much
more interesting. Fairies and elves always come through open windows.
Won’t you sit down?”
Buster was quite tired after his hard run, and was very glad to accept
this invitation. The foot of the bed seemed a very inviting seat, and
he sat on the white coverlet.
But almost immediately he sprang up in alarm. The springs creaked under
his great weight, and for a moment it looked as if the whole bed would
collapse. He jumped to his feet with a queer expression on his face. In
fact, he wasn’t sure but this was some sort of a trap set for him.
But the little girl laughed merrily at the accident, and clapped both
hands. He could not believe she was attempting to deceive him, and he
grinned like a foolish boy who had discovered a bent pin in his chair.
“Oh, Buster,” she cried, “I guess this isn’t a _bear_-bed. You’re too
heavy for it. Maybe the chair will hold you.”
Buster turned and looked at the chair. He seemed a little doubtful,
but he wanted to be polite. He tried it carefully, but when it began
to crack and groan under his weight he was wise enough not to go any
further. He shook his head, and put the chair back in its place.
[Illustration: HE DIDN’T MIND THE FLOOR AS A SEAT]
The little girl shrieked with laughter again. It was very amusing to
her, and Buster, not wishing to offend her, grinned and nodded his
head. He liked children, and this one was anxious to play with him.
After a while she grew serious again, and looked around at every
article in the room.
“I don’t know, Buster,” she said slowly, “but you’ll have to sit on the
floor. I don’t think anything else is strong enough to hold you. It’s
not very polite to ask visitors to sit on the floor, but what else can
I do, unless you prefer to stand?”
Buster didn’t prefer to stand. He was very tired, and he didn’t mind
the floor as a seat at all. In fact, it was more suitable to him than
a bed or chair. So he squatted down on his haunches, and smiled. Even
then his head towered above the little girl’s.
“Are you comfortable there?” she asked.
Buster nodded. “Then,” she added, “you must tell me where you came
from, and how you escaped those cruel men. I want to hear the whole
story. It’s better than a story from a book, and I love story books
about bears. Did you ever hear the story of Goldy Locks or the Three
Little Bears? No. Then I’ll tell you.”
But she didn’t have time. Just then there was a great commotion
outside. Men were shouting and calling, dogs barking, and a great
hullabaloo going on under the open window.
“What’s that!” exclaimed the little girl, hopping out of the bed, and
running to the window in her bare feet.
Buster could have told her what the noise meant, and for a moment he
thought it was his duty to give himself up to keep the little girl from
being harmed. Suppose the crowd searching for him should hurt her! He
got up, and tried to pull her away from the window, but she pushed him
back quickly.
“Go back, Buster!” she cried. “They’re looking for you, but they won’t
have you. They mustn’t see you!”
The dogs below were barking. They had tracked Buster to the woodshed,
and were now holding their nose up in the air baying loudly. As plain
as words they were saying the bear had climbed to the roof of the shed.
The men saw the open window, and immediately a hoarse cry rose. “He’s
gone in that window! He’s eating up little Nell! Oh! Oh!”
You could imagine Buster’s emotions when he heard this outcry. To be
accused of eating up little Nell was enough to make any self-respecting
bear angry. He growled savagely, and started for the window again. But
the little girl restrained him once more.
“No, no, Buster, you mustn’t let them see you!” she cried. “Now let me
think! What ought I to do? They’ll be here soon. Yes,” glancing out of
the window, “they’re climbing up the shed. Oh, Buster, hide under the
bed!”
Buster obeyed, but he might just as well have tried to crawl through
the key-hole of the lock on the door. He couldn’t possibly squeeze
under the bed without upsetting it.
“Dear me,” added Nell, biting her lips, “where can I hide you?”
She looked at the closet filled with her pretty clothes. She ran to it
and looked in. It was such a small closet that Buster couldn’t possibly
crowd in it.
“I don’t know, Buster,” she added, “what I can do.” She looked at her
trunk. No, of course, not; she couldn’t get Buster in that. The bureau
next, and then the wash-stand. Not one of them was big enough to hold
one of Buster’s hind legs.
They could hear the men climbing to the roof of the shed now. In a few
moments they would appear at the open window with their shot-guns and
pitchforks. The little girl was more excited than Buster. Suddenly an
idea came to her, and she gasped with delight.
“Here, Buster,” she called sharply, seizing him by a paw. “You must lie
down on the floor at the foot of the bed. Get way down! No, no, not
that way! This way! Pull your legs up like a cat cuddling up before the
fire. There, that’s right. Now don’t you move or make a sound. You hear
me?”
She shook a finger warningly at him. She had made Buster curl up on the
floor at the foot of the bed in the smallest space he had ever before
occupied. It was not a comfortable position for him, but for the little
girl’s sake he was satisfied to stay there.
Then Nell pulled the clothes down, and threw them over the foot-board
of the bed and spread them out on the floor until Buster was completely
covered. She laid the pillows on top just as if they had been put there
to air. She had been taught to do this every morning after rising, and
then open the window for the fresh air to blow in.
The men appeared at the window just as she had finished. Without
waiting for an invitation they climbed in.
“Where is he?” they asked. “Where’s the bear? We thought he was in here
eating you up, Nell.”
They were glancing all around the room, and if Buster hadn’t been so
well concealed they would have seen him. Nell turned to them with
dignity, and said in her high little voice:
“What an idea! Is there a bear around here? Oh, I’d dearly like to see
him! I know he wouldn’t hurt me! Where did he come from? Is he outside?”
She ran to the window and looked out. Satisfied now that Buster was
not in the room, the men climbed out, but they closed the window after
them, and said: “Keep that shut, Nell!”
In the next story Buster is discovered in the house.
STORY XIV
BUSTER TRIES TO ESCAPE AND IS DISCOVERED