FOUR men once came to a wet place in the roadless forest to fish. They
pitched their tent fair upon the brow of a pine-clothed ridge of riven rocks
whence a bowlder could be made to crash through the brush and whirl past the
trees to the lake below. On fragrant hemlock boughs they slept the sleep of
unsuccessful fishermen, for upon the lake alternately the sun made them lazy
and the rain made them wet. Finally they ate the last bit of bacon and
smoked and burned the last fearful and wonderful
hoecake.
Immediately a little man volunteered to stay and hold the camp while the
remaining three should go the Sullivan county miles to a farm-house for
supplies. They gazed at him dismally. "There's only one of you -- the devil
make a twin," they said in parting malediction, and disappeared down the
hill in the known direction of a distant cabin. When it came night and the
hemlocks began to sob they had not returned. The little man sat close to his
companion, the campfire, and encouraged it with logs. He puffed fiercely at
a heavy built brier, and regarded a thousand shadows which were about to
assault him. Suddenly he heard the approach of the unknown, crackling the
twigs and rustling the dead leaves. The little man arose slowly to his feet,
his clothes refused to fit his back, his pipe dropped from his mouth, his
knees smote each other. "Hah!" he bellowed hoarsely in menace. A growl
replied and a bear paced into the light of the fire. The little man
supported himself upon a sapling and regarded
his visitor.
The bear was evidently a veteran and a fighter, for the black of his coat
had become tawny with age. There was confidence in his gait and arrogance in
his small, twinkling eye. He rolled back his lips and disclosed
his white teeth. The fire magnified the red of his mouth. The little man had
never before confronted the terrible and he could not wrest it from his
breast. "Hah!" he roared. The bear interpreted this as the challenge of a
gladiator. He approached warily. As he came near, the boots of fear were
suddenly upon the little man's feet. He cried out and then darted around the
campfire. "Ho!" said the bear to himself, "this thing won't fight -- it
runs. Well, suppose I catch it." So upon his features there fixed the animal
look of going -- somewhere. He started intensely around the campfire. The
little man shrieked and ran furiously. Twice
around they went.
The hand of heaven sometimes falls heavily upon the righteous. The bear
gained.
In desperation the little man flew into the tent. The bear stopped and
sniffed at the entrance. He scented the scent of many men. Finally he
ventured in.
The little man crouched in a distant corner. The bear advanced, creeping,
his blood burning, his hair erect, his jowls dripping. The little man yelled
and rustled clumsily under the flap at the end of the tent. The bear snarled
awfully and made a jump and a grab at his disappearing game. The little man,
now without the tent, felt a tremendous paw grab his coat tails. He squirmed
and wriggled out of his coat, like a schoolboy in the hands of an avenger.
The bear howled triumphantly and jerked the coat into the tent and took two
bites, a punch and a hug before he discovered his man was not in it. Then he
grew not very angry, for a bear on a spree is not a black-haired pirate. He
is merely a hoodlum. He lay down on his back, took the coat on his four paws
and began to play uproariously with it. The most appalling, blood-curdling
whoops and yells came to where the little man was crying in a treetop and
froze his blood. He moaned a little speech meant for a prayer and clung
convulsively to the bending branches. He gazed with tearful wistfulness at
where his comrade, the campfire, was giving dying flickers and crackles.
Finally, there was a roar from the tent which eclipsed all roars; a snarl
which it seemed would shake the stolid silence of the mountain and cause it
to shrug its granite shoulders. The little man quaked and shrivelled to a
grip and a pair of eyes. In the glow of the embers he saw the white tent
quiver and fall with a crash. The bear's merry play had disturbed the centre
pole and brought a chaos of canvas about
his head.
Now the little man became the witness of a mighty scene. The tent began
to flounder. It took flopping strides in the direction of the lake.
Marvellous sounds came from within -- rips
and tears, and great groans and pants. The little man went into
giggling hysterics.
The entangled monster failed to extricate himself before he had
frenziedly walloped the tent to the edge of the mountain. So it came to pass
that three men, clambering up the hill with bundles and baskets, saw their
tent approaching.
It seemed to them like a white-robed phantom pursued by hornets. Its
moans riffled the hemlock twigs.
The three men dropped their bundlesand scurried to one side, their eyes gleaming with fear. The canvasavalanche swept past them. They leaned, faint and dumb, against trees andlistened, their blood stagnant. Below them it struck the base of a great pine tree, where it writhed and struggled. The three watched its
convolutions a moment and then started terrifically for the top of the hill.
As they disappeared, the bear cut loose with a mighty effort. He cast one
dishevelled and agonized look at the white thing, and then started wildly
for the inner recesses of the forest.
The three fear-stricken individuals ran to the rebuilt fire. The little
man reposed by it calmly smoking. They sprang at him and overwhelmed him
with interrogations. He contemplated darkness and took a long, pompous puff.
"There's only one of me -- and the devil made a twin," he said.