A WILDERNESS BABY
When the young farmer beheld the great hulk of the black bear lying
motionless at the foot of the beech, and saw his child lying unharmed
in the snow, his eye, that had been so keen at the moment of peril,
grew dim and his senses swam, like one upon a high pinnacle, about to
fall.
But it was only for a second. His strong nerves soon restored him, and
he stooped and picked up the baby, although he was so blinded with glad
tears that he had to grope for the precious bundle.
What a miracle it was, he thought; only the watchful care of a special
Providence could have steadied his hand for that desperate shot. The
more he considered, the more miraculous it seemed, and with a heart
welling up with praise and gratitude, he silently thanked God for the
deliverance, then woke the leafless forest with a glad, "Halloo."
This was intended for the old hound, and she at once responded with a
quick succession of joyous barks.
The man had been a little uncertain of the direction home, as he had
followed the trail feverishly, but the dog's greeting at once set him
right. Shielding the baby in his arms, and picking out as good footing
as he could in the uncertain light, he made all haste back to his
faithful canine, whose whines and barks guided him from time to time.
"It's all right, Hecla, old girl, I've got him," he cried as soon as he
came within speaking distance of the dog. The father's joy was so
great that he had to impart it to some one.
He lost no time in untying the dog and with her as a guide they were
able to follow the homeward trail through the darkest places in safety.
He must make all possible haste, for he remembered the look of mute
agony in his wife's eyes, as she stood at the door watching his
departure.
"Home, home, Hecla!" he cried, each time they plunged into deeper gloom
than usual. "We must hurry."
But the good dog needed no urging. Out and in, unerringly, she led
him, until the open pasture lot was reached.
Then with a glad bark she bounded over the stone wall and started
across the fields at a pace that her master could not keep. He did not
call her back, for he felt sure that she could impart the glad news to
her mistress before his coming, and anything to relieve the suspense at
home was desirable.
While the two had been floundering through the deep woods upon their
seemingly hopeless quest, the grief-stricken mother had paced the
kitchen floor, wringing her hands and moaning. Occasionally, as the
moments dragged slowly by, she would go to the piazza and listen until
it seemed that her ear-drums would burst with the intensity of her
effort, but only the moaning of the wind, and the usual night sounds
came to her ears.
At last, in one of these anxious periods of listening, she thought she
detected the barking of old Hecla, but was not certain. Perhaps it was
only the wind playing pranks upon her overwrought nerves, or the
hooting of an owl.
She waited expectantly and a few seconds later, hearing the old hound's
glad bark as she bounded over the wall between the pasture and the
mowing, knew that John had sent her with a message for the mistress of
Clover-hill Farm. There was something in the dog's bark that put hope
into her heart, and she ran to meet her.
"Hecla, Hecla, old friend, what is it?" cried the mother, as the
faithful canine, panting from the hard run, capered breathlessly about
her mistress, wagging her tail and quivering with excitement.
"Can't you tell me, Hecla? Is my baby safe?"
For answer the dog gave several glad barks, and barking and capering,
plainly invited her mistress to follow her and see that she brought
good news.
The mother, whose arms seemed so empty, was only too glad to do this.
It had only been because of her husband's stern command and for fear
that her presence might defeat the enterprise, that she had stayed at
home at all.
With the trained sight of a woodsman, John saw them coming long before
his wife saw him, and he hallooed to them at the top of his voice.
"It's all right, mother," he cried, "I've got little John."
A few seconds later he placed the baby in its mother's arms and sank
down in the snow exhausted from his long, hard run.
When he had recovered his breath and had gasped out a few words of
explanation, all hurried back to the farmhouse, the old dog leading the
way.
In half an hour's time the cozy kitchen was righted. The door had been
rehung and the accustomed warmth and good cheer had returned to the
room, where the kettle hummed and the clock ticked just as though
nothing had happened.
But to the young couple, who sat by the fireside talking it over, that
last half hour seemed like a nightmare.
The following morning, when the first faint streak of daylight was
whitening the east, the young farmer and his faithful dog again took
the trail for the woods.
How different was their going now, from that of the night before!
Then, an awful fear had gripped the man's heart, and the sympathetic
dog had felt her master's misery; but now, the man's step was quick and
joyous, and the dog bounded about him with barks of delight.
The tracks made the night before were still quite plain, and they soon
came to the beech where the bear had stood when the hair-raising shot
was made. There lay the great carcass in the snow just as it had the
night before.
The coat was long and glossy, of a deep black on the outside, and
rather lighter on the under side. Her forearms were strong and her
claws were most ample. Her jaw was massive, and altogether she was a
beast that one would not care for a close acquaintance with, especially
if she thought her young were in danger.
It was useless to think of moving the prize without a team, so the
exultant farmer went home for a horse and a sled, and in half an hour's
time the huge bear was lying upon the porch of the farmhouse.
News of the startling event spread rapidly and half a dozen neighbors
gathered to see the bear weighed. To the astonishment of all, she
tipped the beam at three hundred pounds, which is a few pounds short of
the record for the largest she-bear ever weighed.
Two of the neighbors helped remove the fine skin and received some
bear-steak in return for their labor.
Late in the afternoon, the now famous hunter again shouldered his gun
and set off for the woods, followed by old Hecla. He was not satisfied
in his own mind, that they had found out all there was to know about
the strange appearance of the bear at the farmhouse. If there should
be more "goods in the case," as he expressed it, so much the better;
but if not, he would keep his own counsel and no one would suspect that
he had been upon a second bear-hunt.
He went directly to the tree where the dead bear had lain, and examined
the snow carefully. He soon found a well-defined trail that led
farther back into the woods. This he followed easily, and it brought
him to an old fallen hemlock, which was partly covered with snow. The
tracks led into the deepest, thickest portion 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. No dog was ever more
devoted to a child, than was the bear-cub as the two grew up together.
They were constant companions and were inseparable.
"Finally the bear became so strong a partisan of the child that she was
really jealous of the rest of the family. She seemed to think that the
child belonged to her. The second summer on several occasions the two
strayed far from home. The bear seemed to like to toll the child away,
where she could have it all to herself.
"One day when the boy refused to follow where its shaggy companion led,
the bear fastened her teeth in the man-cub's clothes and carried her
small master, kicking and protesting, to the woods, where both were
found some hours later.
"I interfered at this point and shipped the bear away to a summer
hotel, where they wanted something to amuse the visitors. She soon
tired of the company and escaped to the wild.
"Now I am confident that our old Blackie and your bear are one and the
same, but the matter is easily settled. Our bear had lost a toe on her
left hind leg, the consequence of getting in front of the mowing
machine in the tall grass when she was small. Please examine your
specimen in this particular and let me hear from you."
"The riddle is solved," exclaimed the husband excitedly tossing the
letter across the table to his wife. "I noticed the missing toe when I
removed the skin. It is a great relief to have the matter cleared up."