could make you believe that to-day was last Thursday a week ago, if you
weren't on to him. At this time he was kind of under a cloud like
myself, and the way it come about was this:
"He started an assay office when he first struck the gulch, and he used
to bring in results according to the looks of the customer. If the man
looked tender around the feet, Aggy'd knock it to him, and probably the
shave-tail would be so pleased that he would fork out an extra ten; but
if he was plainly vented as one of the boys, there would be just enough
pay in the return to encourage him. Now, Jones did everything
shipshape and in style. Here's the paper that made him trouble."
Hy fished a slip out of the bundle in his old pocket-book and handed it
to me.
AGAMEMNON G. JONES, _Assayer_,
Qualitative and Quantitative Analysis.
_Sample left by Mr. Idaho Kid_ _No. 36,943_.
Value per ton.
Gold ...................................... $362.13
Silver .................................... 186.90
Platinum .................................. 14.77
Lead ...................................... 2.06
Iridium ................................... .02
Osmium .................................... .00003+
Copper .................................... 18.54
10:36 A.M. 3/16/81
Signed, AGAMEMNON G. JONES, _Assayer_.
"Now, that was the worst that Aggy had ever sprung on anybody, because
this Idaho Kid looked as if he hadn't been three weeks away from his
mother; instead of which he was a hootin', tootin' son-of-a-gun in
reality, and you might say he'd cut his teeth on a miner's candlestick.
"When the Kid saw that miraculous result, his eyes bunged out; then he
took a long breath and wrecked the place. Aggy left at one that
morning for fear that worse might follow. He fetched this paper with
him to remind him that 'genius has its limitations,' he said. But he
didn't seem to learn anything by it. Next he took up engineering. He
hit a blame good job on Castle Creek. The people wanted to turn the
creek through a tunnel, so that they could work the bed, and at this
point it was rather an easy business. The stream made a 'U' about
three-quarters of a mile long, the bottom prong being at least a
hundred and fifty feet below the water-level on the top one--a smashing
good fall--so Aggy started in on the down side to bore the hole up.
Well, everything went lovely. He'd come around with his plans and
specifications twice a day, and draw his hundred once a week regular
for his great labours. At last, however, the shift-boss said they must
be getting pretty near water; he could hear it roar through the face of
the tunnel, he said. But Aggy told him not to be alarmed; he had it
all worked out, and they weren't within forty foot of breaking through."
[Illustration: He'd come around with his plans and specifications twice
a day]
"So at it they went again, as cheerful as could be, and the next news
they got, down comes the face, and they were being piped through four
hundred foot of black-dark tunnel, trying to guess what was up, bumping
and banging against the walls, and the whole of Castle Creek on top of
them. My, Chinamen weren't a circumstance. Aggy said they boiled out
of the lower end of the tunnel where he was standing so fast he
couldn't recognise them, and, as a matter of fact, three or four of 'em
were washed a mile down creek before they could make land. Aggy
gathered that it was time to move again, so he pulled back for Idaho.
There wasn't anybody really drowned, except old Tom Olley, a
cousin-Jack whose only amusement in life was to wear out his pants
laying low for cinches in the stud-poker game, and you couldn't rightly
say he was any loss to the community. So Aggy used to regret sometimes
that he hadn't stayed to face the music. They might have played horse
with him for a while, but 'twould soon have blown over--miners not
being revengeful by nature--and he was to have had an eighth interest,
besides his salary, if the thing was a success.
"But there was no good of crying over spilt milk, and us two went
prospecting.
"We located for a permanent stand down on Frenchman's Creek, near where
three of Cap' Ally's greaser sheep herders had their camp. They did
our hunting for us, and as there was nobody but them around, and they
were the peacefullest people in the world, we didn't feel the need of
any gun except Ag's old six-shooter. That was the cussedest machine
that ever got invented by man. When you pulled her off she'd spit fire
in all directions, filling the crotch of your hand with powder burns,
and sometimes two or three of the loads would go off at once, when
she'd kick like a Texas steer. There was much talk of bear around, and
we were always going to buy a real gun, some day, but we never got at
it.
"Well, we prospered pretty well, considering how little we worked. A
large part of the time was taken up with playing monte with the
herders, and still more in arguing questions about religion and things
like that; but we had a decent cabin built--with the kind assistance of
the herders--and as we struck a rich little streak that run out ten
dollars per man a day with no trouble at all, we were in clover.
"At last our stock of grub ran low, and Jones slid up to Salmon City to
load up again. It was quite a trip, and as I didn't think it was
square to work while Aggy was away, I took up with the herders. They
were the decentest folks I ever struck. Play a little music on the
guitar, sing songs that always wound up just where a white man's songs
would begin, and tell stories and smoke cigarettes--that was the layout
for them. Old Cap' Allys was a Christian, and he wouldn't let a man
herd sheep all by himself--surest way to get crazy that ever was
invented--so he sent the boys out three in a bunch.
"Those fellers had the darndest lot of fairy tales I ever did hear.
And superstitious! Great Jupiter! Any little blame thing that
happened meant something: this thing was good luck; that meant bad, and
if you tried to josh them out of it, they'd shake their heads and look
at you as if they thought you weren't truly religious. One of their
yarns was about El Diablo de Fuego, 'The Devil of Fire,' which Miguel
said ran in his family. Seems that when anything wrong was about to
happen, this blazing, ripping monster showed up as a warning. I told
Mee that I thought the monster was misfortune enough, without anything
else, but he was scandalised.
"'Psst!' says he. 'Do not spik sooch t'eeng as dthat! Ay, di mi!
Je-Maria-mi Cristo! Jésu, muy dolce y poquito! Dhat mek heem
arrrrrrive dthat eenstant, eef djoo spik weez dees-rrreespeck!'
"'All right, Mee,' says I. 'We'll let her go at that--todo el mismo
por mi, sabe? But how's the bear crop?'
"'Ay, cara! Is plenty goddam ba-are!' says Pepe. 'Keel three--four
ship las' nigh'! That mek that two mus' seet oop for watch, an' alll
ship mus' be in close-corrrrallll! I speet on the soul of that ba-are!'
"Gad! that wasn't cheerful news a little bit. If there's anything in
this world I more than don't like, it's a bear--he's so darn big and
strong and unreasonable, and unless you catch him sitting, you can pump
lead into him until you're black in the face, and it's all one to him.
Well, I thought I might as well camp with the herders until Aggy came
back.
"When he did show up he was rather under the influence of strong drink,
and from the looks of the waggon he'd brought with him, I should say
he'd bought about everything that was movable in Salmon City. I ain't
easily astonished, but I must admit that some of the truck got the best
of me. I kept asking, 'What in ---- is this, Ag?' and he always
answered, 'Ask the driver.' Well, now, if there was any choice between
the two, the driver was drunker than Aggy, so you can imagine what a
lot of satisfaction I got. There was one thing that I simply couldn't
make head nor tail of, and I stayed with him until I got an answer on
that.
"'Why, it's an alcohol cooking-stove,' said he, 'great medicine--no
trouble to cook now at all. Just light her,' says he, waving his hand,
'and whoop! away she goes! Where's that can of alcohol? Here she is!
Have a drink, Hy?'
"I took a small swig of it in a little water to please him, but there
weren't stimmilants enough in the country to raise my spirits that
night. I put all the plunder that I could lift up in the cock-loft,
and the rest I left sitting around.
"I don't exactly know where you fellers are going to sleep,' says I,
trying to be sourcastic. 'Pity you didn't order a folding-bed, Ag.'
"'I did,' says he.
"'A folding-bed?' I repeats, not believing my ears.
"'And a piano,' says he. 'What is home without a piano? Answer: It's
a place that can't hold the forte--dam good joke--keno--go up to the
head, Jones.'
"'Well,' says I, after some other things, 'who's going to pay for all
this?'
"'God knows!' says he, waving his hand again. 'Good-night!' and with
that he fell down between a new bureau and a patent portable
blacksmith's forge, and putting his head on a concertina, went sound
asleep.
"I couldn't follow suit for some time; it's one thing to come home full
of budge and animal spirits yourself, and it's quite different to have
your pardner work it on you. At last, however, I concluded it would be
all the same the next century, and turned in, but I was so rattled that
I forgot the bears, and didn't lock up with the usual care.
"It must have been about two in the morning when I woke all in a
tremble. I had the feeling that things were away off, but I couldn't
place what was the matter, until I looked at the square of moonlight on
the floor that came through the window, and I was near to screech like
a tomcat, for there was a monstrous black shadow bobbing back and forth
in the patch of light. I drew on my bank for all the sand I had and
raised my eyes. My heart fairly knocked my ribs loose. Nicely framed
in the window was the head of a grizzly, and I'll take my oath it
wasn't over a size smaller than a beer-barrel!
"'Now,' thinks I, 'if I can only get that gun before he sees me, and if
the cussed thing will only do the right thing by me this once!'
"So out I steps, and the first rattle out of the box I stumbled on a
few dozen of the purchases Ag had brought home, and down them and me
came like an earthquake. It scart the bear so he drew back; no use
trying to work a sneak now. I jumped for the holster, unlimbered, and
turned the gun loose for general results. I guess every load went off,
from the noise, and she flew out of my hand and vanished behind me.
The place was full of smoke and the plunder that was scattered around;
you could neither see nor walk, and that bear was swatting the door in
a fashion that showed he was going to give us a call any old how, and I
was plumb distracted--for the life of me I didn't know what to do.
"'Don't make such a damn noise!' growls Aggy.
"'You'd better get out of that!' I yells. 'You'll get noise enough in
a minute!' But he didn't pay the least attention.
"Just before the door went down I broke for the cock-loft; it was the
only spot that seemed to hold the teeniest bit of safety. I clim up
the wall like a hopper-grass, but I had no more than made it when my
friend was in the house. 'Twas me he wanted to see, too, apparently;
for he never noted anything else, but headed straight for the loft. I
had kind of hoped the other two would amuse him for a while, but it
wasn't to be. With the door down, the moonlight streamed in so it was
'most as light as day.
"'Keep your big feet off me!' says Ag, very indignant, as the bear
walked on him. It's a great thing not to know who you're talking to
sometimes.
"Well, brother bear upends himself, and reaches for the loft. He could
just nicely hook his front toe-nails on the board, and when I saw that,
I would have sold myself out hide and hair and good-will of the
business extremely reasonable. 'Here's where my esteemed friend
Hydraulic Smith gets piped out,' I thought, and I tried to meet my
finish like a man, but there was something about winding up as filler
for a dirty, smelly bear wrapper that took all the poetry out of the
situation.
"I saw that Aggy had got on to the state of affairs at last; he was
crawling backward very cautious, and he had a look of pained surprise
on his face that beat anything I'd ever seen on the phiz of man or
beast before. For all I was so scart that I was sweating icicles, I
couldn't help but snicker. Howsomever, at that moment brother bear
threw his weight on the board, and she snapped like a toothpick, and my
merry smile took a walk. I was in a desperate fix! He had only to
keep on pulling down boards to the last one, and then, of course, I'd
come down with it. Something had to be done. I grabbed a sack of
flour and heaved it at him; the sack caught on a splinter and ripped,
so beyond covering him with powder it had no particular result. He
_did_ stop and taste the flour; he had lots of time! There wasn't any
good in that. But as I reached around for another weapon my hand
struck the can of alcohol, and right then I had a genuine three-X
inspiration. I pulled the plug from the can and poured the spirits
down. The bear howled murder as the stuff ran into his eyes, and
plunking himself on his hunkies, he began to paw and scrape it out.
There was my chance! I fumbled through all my pockets as fast as my
hand could travel--no matches! Then cussing and praying like a
steam-engine, I tried it again; found a handful in the first pocket;
dropped most of 'em, being so nervous, but scratched what was left and
chucked 'em on Mr. Bear.
"Great Moses in the bulrushes! Events began on that instant. I've
seen a cyclone, and an earthquake, and a cloudburst, and an Injun
outbreak, and a Democratic convention, but roll 'em into one and that
bear would give 'em cards, spades, big and little casino, a stuffed
deck, and the tally-board too, and then beat 'em without looking at his
hand.
"I simply can't begin to tell you all the different kinds of pure,
unadulterated hell he raised with the stock of curiosities Aggy had
bought in town. And the looks of him! White with flour half-way,
spouting flames and smoke, and apparently three times as big as he was
when he started! He was something before the people now, I tell you!
And the burning hair smelt scandalous, and the way he ripped and roared
made the ground tremble.
"When he finally broke through the door, I was so interested that I
forgot to be afraid, and hopped down to watch him go, and then I saw
the last act of the tragedy.
"Miguel heard the shot, and knowing we were in trouble, he started up
the trail on his old buckskin, fairly burning the earth.
"He rounded a little clump of trees, and came plump on my bear,
roaring, foaming, blazing, smoking, ripping, and flying! Well, sir,
you can believe me or not, but I want to tell you that that cayuse of
Mee's jumped right out from under him, and was half-way up Wilkin's
Hill before the Mexican touched the ground. He was headed due west,
and he must have reached the coast the next day, the gait he was
travelling. Anyhow, he vanished from the sight of man forever, as far
as we know.
"Mee sat froze just as he had landed, scart so there wasn't no more
expression on his face, and the bear hopped right over the top of his
head. Then I reckon Mee thought his family friend had come for him,
for he jumped ten foot in the air, and when he touched ground he was in
full motion. It's only fair to say that Miguel could run when he put
his mind to it. 'El Infierno esta suelto!' he yells. 'Santiago!
Santiago! Ten quidado conmigo! Madre mia! Salvame! Salvame pronto!'
Lord, I can see him now, scuttling over the fair face of the Territory
of Idaho in the bright moonlight like a little bird--chest out; hands
up; head back; black hair snapping in the breeze; long legs waving like
the spokes of a flywheel, and yelling for Santiago to keep an eye on
him, and for his mother to save him quick, as long as he was in sight.
And when he passed, he passed out. He took a different direction from
his horse, so it ain't likely they met, but neither one of 'em was seen
no more around our part of the country."
[Illustration: Miguel could run when he put his mind to it.]
"Still, by and by there floated back to us a story of how a greaser had
been chased by a horrible white devil that stood twenty foot high, with
teeth a foot long, horns, hoofs, claws, and a spiked tail; which
travelled at a rate of speed that made a streak of lightning seem like
a way-freight, scattering red fire and brimstone as it ran; which
chased said greaser forty mile over hill and dale and gulch and
mountain top and Bad-Land district, after polishing off his horse in
one bite, and finally sank into the ground with a report like a ton of
giant powder.
"And I've often wondered what really become of that bear."
The Little Bear who Grew
I was standing at the door of the office one afternoon in August. The
office was on Main Street,--a thoroughfare fronting railroad tracks and
a long strip of fenced grass, dotted with newly planted trees, called
the "park,"--in a North Dakota town. It was hot. I mean, hot. Down
that long thin street the shadows of false-fronted stores lay like blue
slag on molten iron. Nothing moved: this particular metropolis-to-be
of the Northwest was given over to heat and silence. Yet it wasn't
muggy, sea-coast heat that turns bone and muscle into jelly--it was a
passion of sun-power, light and heat together.
Just to be on a horse out in it over the prairie swells was to taste
the flavour of adventure. But no such thing for me. I had to take
care of the office. A thermometer inside that office marked one
hundred and fourteen degrees. Had it been inside of me it would have
marked three hundred and fourteen degrees.
I shall not tell the series of injustices that obliged me to stay in
that hencoop, while the rest of the force went gleefully up the line to
attend a ball game. I didn't count for much, while the decision in
regard to the one who stayed rested in the hands of Fate. It was the
manager's own pack of cards I cut. I can recall the look of
sophisticated astonishment those rascals wore at my persistent bad
luck. I found out afterwards that every mother's son of them had
bought his ticket the day before. They had faith in that pack of
cards. Most of the town had gone with them; this accounted for the
deserted village effect. Several days before this I sat up all night
reading H. Rider Haggard's "She." The desire to figure in remarkable
events had not yet worn off, but a more unlikely theatre of adventure
than that Main Street could not be conceived. I looked up and down the
length of it. Hark! What sound is that? 'T is the rattle of wheels,
and the "plunkety-plunk" of a farm-horse's trot. Around the corner
comes an ancient Studebaker waggon drawn by an old horse, and in it two
small boys are seated on a bushel basket--hardly a crisis. I fell to
envying the small boys, for all that. They could go and come as they
pleased; they were their own masters, free to do as they liked in the
world.
As if to show that this was, indeed, the fact, in the broadest meaning
of the words, the two urchins suddenly leaped high in the air, uttering
shrieks; they landed on the ground and scuttled across the park as fast
as legs could carry them. Absolutely no reason for this performance
appeared to the eye. The horse stopped, turning his mild gaze after
them, then swung his head until he saw me, at whom he gazed with that
expression of complete bewilderment always so comical in an equine
face. "Account for that, if you can," he said, as plainly as the
printed words could do it. Finding no solution in me, he shook his
head and blew his nose. He was a kind old horse, always willing to
oblige, but to plan an independent campaign was beyond him, so he stood
just where he was, probably saying, "Great is Allah!" to himself in the
Houyhnhnm tongue, waiting for what was going to happen to get about it.
The plot increased in thickness, for the bushel basket began a
mysterious journey toward the back of the waggon, impelled by an unseen
power. It was a curious thing to see in broad daylight. I felt quite
a prickle down my spine as I watched it. Arriving at the end, over it
went, disclosing the secret. From out of that basket came a small
bear. I swallowed an ejaculation and looked at him. He, entirely
unabashed, returned my gaze--a funny little ruffian! On the end of his
spinal column he teetered, all four feet in the air, the cock of his
head irresistibly suggesting the tilt of a gamin's cap. His tongue
hung waggishly out of his mouth, and a sort of loose, dissipated,
tough, cynical humour pervaded his person, from the squint of his
little eyes to the absurd post of his hind legs. There was less of the
immature bear about him than of the miniature bear. I suppose a young
wild animal is like a street Arab, in that he receives his worldly
knowledge with his milk.
He had on a collar and chain, whereby I recognised he was someone's
property. To clear this part of history, the two small boys had been
hired to take him to Mr. D----'s menagerie, when, after a struggle, he
had been ensconced beneath the bushel basket. They were not the happy
youths I had taken them for, these boys,--how often we envy the lot of
others unwisely!--for they were obliged to sit on the basket in order
to retain their captive, dreading all the time what a moment's
carelessness brought to pass, an attack from beneath. When one
incautious foot ventured too near the basket, Mr. Bear promptly clawed
and chewed it; hence the shrieks, and the flight.
Well, not wishing this piece of live stock to escape, I walked toward
him, affecting the unconcern necessary in approaching an animal. He
did not retreat; he swayed on his spine and regarded me jeeringly. I
grabbed the chain and pulled. Instantly, he nailed me by the leg. He
had nothing but milk teeth, or I should have been much the worse for
the encounter. As it was, he pinched like a vise with his strong
little jaws, and I had all I wanted to pry him loose. I tried to hold
him at arm's length, but he turned inside of his baggy overcoat and bit
and clawed until I gave that up. I then whirled him at the end of the
chain. He flew through the air with spread legs until the chain
snapped, when he landed many yards away. He was up and off as soon as
he stopped rolling, and I after him. The boy who was running the
clothing store several vacant lots from the office came to his door at
that moment, and, feeling that a bear hunt was more to his taste than
twiddling his thumbs in an empty store, he came along, too, and the
flour office and the clothing store were left in the hands of
Providence--fortunately there were no thieves in old-time Dakota.
In front was young Mr. Bear, boring a hole in the wind, and behind him
two boys, coming strong, but not in his class for speed. Our quarry
gained one block in three. We just rounded a barn in time to see him
jump into a wood shed behind a real estate office.
I knew a cat with kittens lived in that wood shed, and strained myself
to reach there before the fun was over. However, there was ample time.
The code of the animal duel is as formal and long-winded as anything
the mind of man has devised. Probably everyone has seen two young
cockerels, standing with their bills together, apparently lost in a
Buddhistic reverie, suddenly broken by violence. They are only an
illustration. All animals have their ceremonial of battle, when it is
for the fun of fighting, pure and simple, with the dinner question
eliminated.
The weird war song of Mrs. Cat, pealing out from the cracks of the wood
shed, assured us we would be repaid for our trouble, but the tone
indicated that the fell moment had not arrived. We peered through a
chink. The cat was in a corner, her family around her. Her eyes
roamed all over the wood shed, merely taking the bear in _en passant_.
She seemed unconscious of the awful noise which ripped the air.
The bear, for his part, was unaware of the proximity of a yowling cat.
He never so much as glanced in her direction, having found a very
diverting chunk of coal, which he batted about the floor. A singular
thing was that, when the coal moved it always moved nearer the cat.