WARDE MEETS A GRIZZLY
In the meanwhile, what had Warde been doing?
After he was left alone in camp, he dutifully tidied up the place,
bathed his aching ankle and wrote home as he planned. The writing took a
long time as he was slow and had so much to tell. Warde did not enjoy
writing letters and when he had finished he felt as cramped and tired as
if he had chopped a cord of firewood. The sharp mountain air helped make
him sleepy and when he stretched out on the grass to rest for “just a
minute,” sleep overcame him and he took a nap like a baby. When he waked
he did not need the short shadows of the noon sun directly overhead to
tell him it was lunch time. Disappointed that his pals had not returned
he rummaged about for a snack of bread and bacon for himself. He began
to long for companionship, but did not dare to wander off far from camp
for fear the boys would return and he would miss them and any fun on
foot. So Warde stayed in camp until he fidgeted alone and decided to use
his time to good advantage by collecting firewood. This he did so
industriously that soon he had a fine pile. On coming back to it with
another armful of sticks Warde saw something moving by one tent. Mr.
Wilde and Billy shared one tent, the boys another, while the camera and
camp supplies were stored in a third. Something was moving near the tent
where the provisions were kept.
Overjoyed, after his long solitude at seeing what he supposed of course
was Ed or Westy, Warde shouted. At the sound of his voice the intruder
started and reared up. It was an enormous grizzly bear!
You may imagine that Warde stopped stock-still, unable to move hand or
foot. He seemed turned to stone and did not even drop his sticks.
The grizzly stood on his hind legs, solemnly regarding him and he did
not move either. It would have been worth Billy’s while to have been
behind a bush then with his camera, for the picture of boy and bear each
standing staring at one another would have been another thriller to his
credit.
The grizzly was taller than a tall man as he stood there, his forepaws
bent as if contemplating one vast and soft embrace.
Warde’s instinct to heave one of his sticks at the animal he checked as
foolhardy, for such an attack would be sure to enrage the brute. Warde
softly stepped backward. The bear stepped forward. Warde ventured
another backstep, the bear dropped to all fours with a windy “snoof” and
advanced toward him.
At this point Warde thought wildly of climbing a tree. But he could not
remember whether grizzly bears climb trees or not. At any rate, the idea
of scrambling up a tree trunk with the bear clawing at his back did not
appeal at this time to our hero. He wished more than ever that his
fellow scouts would appear. Then the remembrance of Westy’s accusation
that they were only “parlor scouts” stung him and he resolved to act in
a manner worthy a real scout. Just what this would be was the puzzle.
Warde had seen grizzlies in the zoo, of course, but he missed the trusty
iron bars from the landscape now. Thought of the zoo recalled the fact
that at feeding time the keepers threw loaves of bread to them. If he
could only circle about and reach the provisions perhaps the bear would
eat bread or something instead of boy. Do grizzlies eat boys or do they
not? The answer to this was as vague in Warde’s mind as the answer to,
Do they climb trees? At any rate he remembered that they hugged their
victims to death, crushing them in that fur and iron embrace. Nothing
appealed less to Warde at this moment than any such show of affection!
He tried to ease around behind the woodpile and the bear began to follow
him. “At any rate,” thought Warde, “while the old boy keeps down on all
fours he can’t hug me.” He moved cautiously and the bear advanced
threateningly. Warde felt the natural impulse to turn and run, but the
idea of the bear galloping behind halted this. To keep running, pursued
by a bear, was too much like a bad dream in which the bear comes even
closer and you can’t move your feet. Warde decided it was less harrowing
to stand his ground and face the brute. At any rate the bear had not
emitted any blood-curdling “feeding-time-at-the-zoo” growls. He only
gave a few “snoofs” not unlike a pet dog. Warde maneuvered about keeping
tent or woodpile cautiously between himself and his visitor and the bear
lumbered after him. In this way Warde finally reached the provisions and
finding a pan of Billy’s biscuits still on hand, he tossed one at the
bear. It snapped this up eagerly and lunged forward. Stepping backward
inhospitably, Warde threw another biscuit and threw it good and far. The
bear turned and trotted after it. By throwing the biscuits one at a time
with all the snap of a Big League pitcher, Warde succeeded in keeping
the great animal at a comfortable distance. It reminded him of those
stories of Russia when the sleigh is pursued by wolves and one by one
the riders jump overboard as sacrifice to delay the pack so that the
sole surviving heroine may escape. Warde hated to think what he would do
when all the biscuits were gone.
He felt sure he could not continue to throw every piece of food they had
to the bear. Finally the last remaining biscuit went, and, impatient for
more, the bear came forward at a brisk and clumsy trot. Warde felt it
was just as well to side step. The big creature thrust himself into the
tent and tumbled everything about, now stopping to snap up a tidbit, now
investigating and upsetting boxes with his nose. At last he came to
Billy’s camera supplies. Here in tin boxes were spare films and if
anything destroyed these, the expedition was spoiled. At this point
Warde asserted himself. To tell the truth he had rather envied the glory
Westy acquired in his encounter with Bloodhound Pete. The bear did not
seem too ferocious and Warde felt that here was a chance for him to
outwit the animal and win for himself perhaps a modicum of fame. He
tried to think what he had ever heard about bears, and to save his life
could only recall the adventure of the absurd Goldilocks and the
repeated, “Who has been sleeping in my bed?” said the middle-sized bear
in his middle-sized voice. You will admit that Goldilocks was not a
great help to a scout facing a Rocky Mountain grizzly! Why is it the
most foolish thoughts occur to you in moments of stress? Warde felt very
annoyed that people filled up children’s minds on that silly stuff
instead of teaching them useful things like how to drive away live bears
that are licking your biscuit pan. Warde couldn’t seem to think up
anything to stop the bear’s dishwashing, and like a good many other
people when baffled he blamed it on his education. “Gosh,” he thought
indignantly, “when _I_ have a boy I won’t waste his time on nursery
rimes; I’ll bring him up to things that amount to something in a pinch!”
It was when the bear nosed at the camera boxes again that Warde was
spurred to action. He felt that the day would be lost if he did not
protect those precious films for which they were undertaking this whole
trip. Pressed with need to act, Warde suddenly was blessed with an idea.
He remembered the adage that no animal can look you in the eye. He
ventured therefore to advance and glare unblinkingly straight into the
bear’s eyes. The bear snarled and shook his head. Instead of backing
away, however, to Warde’s dismay he came straight at him with a “snoofy”
challenge. Through Warde’s mind had been running a hodgepodge of all the
wild animal stories he had ever read and now there flashed to his mind
one from an old volume of St. Nicholas. In this tale an East Indian boy
saves a white baby from a tiger by blowing tunes on a piccolo. It seemed
animals do not like music any better than your cat does. Now it just
happened that Billy was one of those chaps who always blew tunes on a
harmonica. He had driven them crazy with this all the way up, and his
harmonica was at that moment in his coat pocket and the coat hung on a
tree where he had left it for a strenuous day in shirtsleeves. Warde
felt a thrill of pride at the ingenious idea. He succeeded in reaching
the coat pocket, extracted the mouth organ and began to play. There was
only one tune he knew how to play and that was “Home, Sweet Home.” As
the seedy notes of this familiar song piped up on the forest air, the
bear acted very strangely. Perhaps you think he, like the tiger, fled
obligingly. Oh, no! Perhaps a grizzly likes a mouth harp as much as a
tiger dislikes a piccolo. Perhaps the tiger would have liked the mouth
harp and perchance the bear would have fled before a piccolo. There is
no telling. But the truth of the matter is that the grizzly actually
enjoyed “Home, Sweet Home.” Instead of turning tail—what little tail he
had! and leaving—he simply rose to his full height on his great haunches
and swayed in waltz time. He even seemed to grin.
A suspicion now dawned on Warde that this chummy bear was no wild beast,
but one of the amiable tame bears of Yellowstone Park, straying through
the wilderness in which he knew well enough, no doubt, he was protected
by benign game laws.
A vast relief loosened the nervous tightness in his chest. Immediately
after this relief, however, Warde felt a sort of disappointment that he
was done out of an opportunity to play the hero. “At any rate,” he
comforted himself, “I’m glad I found it out myself before any of the
others got the laugh on me.” At this moment, however, an opportunity to
assert himself did arise, for the bear, still hungry, insisted on nosing
in among the supplies again and threatened to upset and ruin the films.
It was at this point that Warde got his first really useful inspiration.
He suddenly remembered that it was _fire_ that frightened animals away.
He lost no time in kindling a dry pine branch which flared up fiercely.
This he waved at the bear and the bear backed away. A little thrill of
triumph tingled up Warde’s spine. He was not altogether made a clown of
now, and in protecting those films as well as the grub even from a
_friendly_ bear he was proving himself a valuable camp guard. He waved
his torch and the bear with a snort of disgust, wheeled away. It must
not be supposed that he disappeared altogether, not he. He sat down at a
distance and licked out his pink tongue. He was not longing to crunch
Warde’s bones, he only pined, pathetically, for biscuits. From time to
time he ventured nearer. Between the bear and the films Warde stood
guard with his torch and he realized that danger from any carelessness
with the fire might prove more disastrous to the inflammable celluloids
than the bear’s mischief.
Evening was now approaching and surely, Warde thought, some of the
campers would return! Where were those fish Mr. Wilde had demanded?
Warde began to fear some accident had happened. He decided, as it grew
later, that the best thing he could do was to get the camp ready in case
something had happened to one of his friends. Always thoroughly
practical, he made up all the bunks comfortably for the night, pausing
to wave a firebrand at his friend the bear from time to time as a
warning to keep his distance. He built a roaring fire to keep off other
animals, to keep up his own spirits and to act as a signal to his
friends if they were lost. He heated plenty of hot water to have on hand
in case of an emergency, and finally he prepared flapjacks for supper.
No one came to help eat them and finally he began to cook some for
himself. This appetizing smell lured the bear back into the circle of
firelight, and so tantalized was he and so curious that he half lost his
fear of flames and stood not far off wrinkling up his nose. This was a
little too much for Warde. It had become really dark now, and with no
sign or sound of his comrades he began to be alarmed lest some serious
accident prevented their return. He had been alone all day long and this
loneliness at night in the woods began to tell on him. He welcomed even
the presence of this bear now. Recalling the fact that bears have such a
sweet tooth that they risk getting stung while clawing for honey in a
bee tree, he threw a flapjack dripping with syrup at his old friend. The
bear delightedly gulped it down. This amused Warde and diverted him from
his worries. He tossed another. The bear was charmed. Each had lost all
fear of the other now. Bear and boy had supper together. This strangely
comforted the lonely, worried Warde. It was as if when in trouble your
pet Airedale nosed up with sympathy. Well fed, the bear waddled out of
range of the fire, stretched out and napped. Warde, stoking his fire
from time to time, determined to sit up all night if need be, and stick
to his post to be ready when needed. But any boy who deliberately says,
“Now I am going to sit up all night,” soon finds his eyelids weighted.
Warde fought off sleep valiantly. But as though a chloroform sponge were
pressed on his nose, he succumbed and slumbered. Opposite him, a little
away from the fire, the big grizzly lay snoozing too. From time to time
he snored.
It was late moonshine when Warde was startled to wakefulness by the
sound of voices and footsteps. Mr. Wilde, Billy and Westy had returned,
having waited until the moon made possible an exit from the ravine by a
longer, but safer, route than the cliff. Their battered aspect showed
how welcome the hot sponge off from Warde’s kettle of water would prove.
“Good boy to keep up the fire,” approved Mr. Wilde. “We never would have
found this joint at night without that light. Jumping Jehoshaphat—_what
is that_?”
That was the grizzly bear, disturbed and disgruntled by so many noisy
newcomers. He lumbered away into the woods and never was seen again.
Needless to say, Warde from that day to this has always been nicknamed
“Old Grizzly.”
“What’s that?” echoed Warde airily, “why, that’s just my chum, Old
Featherbed. Ain’t we cozy?”
“What’s the idea?” asked the startled Billy. When Warde explained that,
though amiable, the bear’s curiosity made him too nosy among the films,
Bill stuck out his hand.
“Put it there, pard!” he cried. “You saved the whole party. Without my
films this trip is nothing. Mr. Wilde, you got to hand it to these boys.
While one stars in a screen triumph of Daredevil Dick the other rescues
the spare celluloids from all the wild animals in the ark. You better
take them into the firm.”
“I guess I’ll have to,” agreed Mr. Wilde. “By the way, where’s that
other member of the firm—Ed?”