A LIVE SNOWBALL
The day after they visited Rat Town, Mother Brown Bear led the cubs high
above the surrounding mountain slopes to where a sandy meadow stretched
to the foot of snow-clad Lookout Peak.
This eleven-thousand-foot sky-meadow was a riot of wild flowers. Yellow
mimulas and purple pussy-paws carpeted the ground beneath their feet,
while snowy slopes, blue in the cloud shadows, towered to the summit or
swept in a long slope to the spruce woods lying dark green beneath them.
The air was as fresh as a drink from a snow-fed river.
What amazed the cubs was that great swarms of red and black butterflies
danced above them. Snookie and Chinook had a gay time trying to catch
them. Where the purple and white honey-lupin set their noses wriggling,
the butterflies danced in a cloud. Mother Brown Bear was amazed to see
butterflies in this chill altitude, for though she had been a great
traveller, she had always before found them down in the warm meadows
where the bees gathered the honey that she loved. She did not know that
these butterflies were migrating South for the winter. But they had not
come all this way to chase butterflies.
What Mother Brown Bear liked best about the summer snow fields was that
here she often found whole swarms of frozen grasshoppers. To hunt for
this delicacy she now called the cubs to the foot of the nearest
snowbank, and while she dug and sniffed and feasted, they lapped the
strange white stuff that felt so cold. Then Snookie fell down and rolled
head over heels, and to Chinook’s surprise, the half melted snow clung
to her till she looked like a little white bear instead of a cinnamon
cub. The next thing Mother Brown Bear knew, the cubs were climbing the
steep snowbanks for the sake of coasting down. Sometimes they sat with
feet straight out in front of them, but oftener they threw themselves
down flat on their stomachs and did it “belly bumps.” Over and over and
over they tried it, while their mother searched for grasshoppers, till
she really began to worry for fear they might wear all their fur off.
They never forgot the fun they had on their first snow slide.
Now Chinook little dreamed that the Ranger’s Boy who had passed them one
day was right down there in the fir woods whose pointed spires he could
see from an overhanging ledge. Nor did the Boy dream that the roguish
little bear was also off on a camping trip.
Chinook, having found the snow harder on the northern slope and easier
to slide on, had started off with a sturdy shove of his boylike hind
feet and had set himself going so far and so fast that he couldn’t stop.
On the warm western slope the snowbank soon came to a stop, and there
Snookie was content to coast while her mother nosed about for frozen
grasshoppers. But on the northern side it sloped in an unbroken expanse
of hard white that glittered in the reddening sunlight, and never
stopped until it had reached in a long tongue down the gulch into the
fir woods.
“What’s that?” exclaimed the Ranger’s Boy, as he and his father peered
at a small black object darting over the snow field; but it went so fast
that they couldn’t make out what was coming.
Now the snow up above, where the chill winds blew, was crusted hard and
firm, and the little bear, for it was he, just skimmed along as if he
were on ice. But down in the gulch where the snow ran into the fir
woods, the top few inches had partly melted till it was just sticky, and
clung to the feet like a plaster. As Chinook reached the level stretch
and tried to get to all fours, he only succeeded in turning head over
heels with the momentum of his long slide. The next thing he knew, the
soft snow began sticking to him inches deep, till, by the time he had
stopped rolling and come to a standstill, the Boy would have taken him
for a mammoth snowball if he hadn’t seen him coming.
“Dad, I want that cub!” he shouted, stripping off his coat as he ran,
but clinging to the coiled lead rope he had on his arm.
“Leave him alone!” warned his father, who was leading the pack-horse;
but the Boy had already thrown his coat over the struggling snowball,
and the Ranger raced to his assistance.
Five minutes later a man and a boy, both scratched and bleeding but
completely triumphant, had a small and frightened and very angry little
bear on one end of the lead rope, with the other end tied to a fir tree.
“Now watch me make friends with him!” the Boy exulted, running to the
cabin for something to feed his unexpected guest.
“I’ll watch!” his father laughed, starting after the pack-horse.
[Illustration: He turned head over heels with the momentum of the
slide.]
The Boy searched the cabin hastily. There on the top shelf stood a
tightly lidded tin pail of brown sugar that the dampness had converted
into one great lump. Chipping off a pocketful of hard lumps, the Boy
returned to where the little bear chafed and struggled at the end of his
leash. Had they not known just how to tie the knot, he would have choked
himself. He was just beginning to gnaw on the rope when the Boy threw
him a great hard lump of the sugar. Then he went around the corner of
the cabin and peeked to see what would happen.
Chinook, finding the woods as silent as if he were the only living thing
about, paused in his chewing to wriggle his nose at the delicious
smelling tidbit, and suddenly he realized that he was famished. What
could it be, he asked himself? Not wild honey, but something almost as
good! After all, he found himself unhurt, and if that Boy came again, he
thought he could hold his own in a tussle.
Gingerly he reached forth a snowy paw to draw the goody nearer, then he
licked the brown lump with an inquiring pink tongue. Um! Never in all
his short life had he tasted anything better. Bears have a great sweet
tooth. He crunched it delightedly.
Now began an experiment that the Boy had performed with other wild folk.
Would the cub be too frightened to respond? Stepping quietly into view,
he held out a great handful of the tempting lumps, and the little bear
sniffed longingly. But at the same time he eyed the blue-overalled biped
with not a little suspicion. He remembered, however, that it was the
same Boy who had passed them once before, and who had not harmed him;
but then Mother Brown Bear had taught him to be wary of what he did not
understand.
By and by the Boy threw him another lump of sugar. That was a language
he did understand. Chinook snapped it up, and his mouth watered for
more. He could smell that the Boy had more to give him. Softly, slowly
and ever so unalarmingly, the Boy came a few steps nearer, holding out
the sweets, the cub watching intently. It took quite a while, for the
little bear had to focus his mind so whole-heartedly on the feast before
him as to forget those amazing moments when Boy and Ranger had thrown
their coats over his head and fore paws and knotted the rope around his
neck. But after all, Chinook had never in all his life received a hurt,
and his mother was not there to sound her suspicions. Why not consider
the Boy a friend? In the stillness of the mountain twilight the miracle
was accomplished, and the furry woods boy allowed the human Boy to feed
him.
Then from behind a fallen log not two stones’ throw distant the Boy saw
the massive head and shoulders of Mother Brown Bear. That might be a
different story. His father saw her too, for from the high little cabin
window he called: “_Quick! Inside!_” Out he drew his revolver, in case
the alarmed mother should think it necessary to demolish the cub’s
abductor. But the Boy ran indoors, and then both watched from the
window.
“Aw, it’s all right!” Chinook assured his mother, and she could tell
from one sniff at his sugary face that he had been faring well. But she
was still so nervous at having found him gone, and so angry at the
thought that he had been captured, that—after nuzzling him all over to
make sure no bones were broken—she only grunted a harsh “Come on!” to
hide her fear, and led the way rapidly back into the woods, where
Snookie waited. But Chinook was brought up so abruptly by his tether
that his feet slid out from under him.
“Could I cut him loose?” whispered the Boy.
“No need,” smiled his father, for even as they spoke, Mother Brown Bear
came back to gnaw furiously at the rope, and in a moment the little bear
was free.
“Now he’ll wear a collar,” laughed the Boy.
“Don’t you believe it! His mother will have the rest of that rope off in
no time,” the Ranger reassured him.
“Isn’t it a shame we couldn’t be friends, that little bear and I?”
“You could, if this were a National Park where bears are never hunted.”