FOREST AND STREAM. 
[APRIL 7, 1906. 

546 — 
“We Killed a B’ar.” 
Doc Boxssetr was the first to reach the rail 
this evening, and after sitting idly a moment, he 
rose and began to walk back and forth, whistling 
softly to himself, as he always did when alone. 
Doc was the local self-constituted music teacher, 
and his efforts were confined to the old Missouri 
harmony books and the Tonic Sol-Fa system, 
where the men sang the air and the women the 
treble. The Boy had always regarded with awe 
Doc’s music ability, some of which was won- 
drously strange to the youth; negro melodies, 
gathered by the old man in his southland boy- 
hood; quaint music and quainter words, to the 
prairie folk. As he came in sight to-night of 
the familiar figure in the long coat, he saw at a 
glance something was wrong. Doc had _ his 
hands under his coat-tails and was working 
them nervously as he walked and whistled. This 
was a sure sign that the Republicans had carried 
the county election just held. Doc was an ar- 
dent Democrat, and had his party been success- 
ful, his thumbs would have been in the arm holes 
of his vest, and the tune would have been 
“Dixie.” Politics would not be mentioned that 
night, for all had great respect for the old man’s 
“convictions.” 
“Hello, Boy; that you? Le’s see that wart 
you told me abo’t. Just you keep usin’ the 
medicine I give you an’ it'll go away one oO’ 
these days—or nights, maybe.” MHere the ar- 
rival of others caused Doc so far to forget his 
troubles as to get out his knife and gather a 
long splinter from the rail, which he carefully 
began to pare into the finest possible shavings, 
settling comfortably into position, with his heels 
hooked on a lower rail of the fence. 
Mack Bean came first of the teamsters. Mack’s 
wife, Polly, was really the head of his family, 
and he dutifully allowed her to settle all impor- 
tant questions for him, but one; Mack wouldn’t 
wash; Polly couldn’t prevail on him to use soap 
and water. He shunned it as he would the 
plague; claimed it was the cause of more harm 
than “Doc’s med’cin,” and always clinched his 
objections to cleanliness with, ‘“What’s th’ yuse 
—git dirty ag’in,’ and then softly to himself, 
“sit dirty ag’in—git dirty ag’in.” It was hard 
to disprove this assertion, and Mack knew it. 
He was certainly never sick, and a pair of bright 
blue eyes looked out on a world that was all 
good to him. He-smiled his good nature on 
every one. But hands and face were eloquent 
reminders that he was of the earth earthy. 
Next to Polly in his affections came Lige, his 
eldest son, and inseparable companion, and then 
Dolly, the old flea-bitten sorrel mare. Her 
mate was just plain Horse; Dolly was always 
mentioned first when he called to them. As he 
drove up to-night it was, “Whoa, Dolly! Whoa 
Bill! Hello, Doc! Hello, everybody!” 
Several others had gathered by this time, and 
the conversation iivened as the whittlings began 
to litter the ground. Cy. Couchman had killed 
a fox. On being questioned as to what was the 
largest animal he had ever shot, said, “Oncte 
shot 2 b’ar. Mus’ not hev hurt him much, 
though, fur he kep’ a-goin’, an’ I never foun’ 
him.” Tucker Daniels laughed at this part of 
the story, but the hunter met the sarcasm by 
adding, “Waal, I ain’t no call tu be shamed o’ 
what I ain’t afeerd tu tell.”’ All remembered a 
story of a neighbor’s cow that Tucker was 
always believed to have shot, despite his em- 
phatic denials, and the laugh went round as the 
little well digger received the well-aimed thrust. 
Here Mack startled them all by remarking, 
“I killed a b’ar,” and as he always proved every- 
thing by his son and heir, added, “didn’t I, 
Lige?” Thus appealed to, the satellite stopped 
whittling long enough to drawl, “Waal, no— 
not by yerse’f, pa. I reckon ma ho’ped right 
smart bit.’ Thus set right, Mack continued. 
“Ves, Polly did shore ho’p. Reckon she come 
purty nigh doin’ it all, cause she peeled th’ ap- 
ples what th’ b’ar et,’ and he chuckled to him- 
self at the recollection. Remembering his 
audience, he proceeded, “Didn’t I never tell ye 
’bout that thar b’ar story? Waal, le’s see; 
Lige, how ol’ air ye? Yer ma keeps track 0’ 
sech thin’s; I ain’t got no head fur figgers,’ and 
.7 
- orful sick anymule, he wuz. 
he added, “no head fur figgers—no head fur 
figgers,” in the usual undertone. ~ 
“Go on, Mack. Le’s have it all.. What did 
the bear eat that killed him?’ said Doc. All 
joined in the request for the facts, since every 
one there knew Mack never went hunting any 
bear, or any trouble either; and Tucker Daniels 
had so far recovered that he expressed an un- 
belief that Mack ever saw a bear. This last 
was lost on the story-teller, whose mind was 
groping its way back to his younger days. 
“Waal, th’ only b’ar I ever killed (er saw wild) 
—an’ I never went huntin’ him; he come tu see 
me—et wuz out in Missoury; down in them 
Ozark Mountings—big hills they be. Ef Lige 
here is twenty-seven et must hev bin most 
twenty year sence we come back from thar. 
Lige was ‘bout seven, I reckon—wa’n’t ye, 
Lige?” Being assured on this point, he pro- 
ceeded, shifting the other leg on top, and get- 
ting a fresh sliver from the rail to keep Ins 
memory working, as he remarked. 
“We didn’t hev much when we went tu Mis- 
soury, an’ we come back with less.” Here a 
vision of the hard times they had encountered 
came over the old man and he lapsed into 
thoughtfulness, repeating the last words, ‘“‘come 
back with less; come back with less,” the last 
being almost in a whisper. Being roused, he 
continued: 
“Crops wouldn’t grow on them air rocky hills, 
an’ I wan’t no hunter, not by a hull row o’ ap- 
ple trees. Ever’thin’ dried up that last summer 
we wuz thar. ’Bout th’ only thin’ we did hev 
wuz apples,” and he again chuckled to himself. 
“Bein’ as et wus sech a good dryin’ spell, Polly 
tuck a notion she’d mek th’ most o’ th’ only 
crap we hed, an’ so she dried apples—that is, 
she bossed th’ job an’ I ho’ped. Ye know how 
they fix ’em—jes string ’em all up an’ hang ’em 
in a good, dry place. Polly didn’t call ng halt 
till the hull inside o’ our log cabin looked like 
we'd hed the bigges’ parin’ bee ever hearn tell 
on. Bimeby, Polly settled et that we needed 
suthin’ else tu eat ’sides dried apples. They 
wuz mighty fillin’, but orful pore n’urishin’. We 
wuz ackshully gittin’ that thin we hed to face 
th’ sun tu mek a respeckturbul shadder. Th’ 
upshot o’ et wuz that we tew shud tek a bunch 
o’ them apples tu taown an’ swop ’em fur meal 
an’ bacon. Lige wuz th’ oldes’ o’ aour three 
children, an’ cause we couldn’t tek ’em all, we 
settled et by leavin’ ’em all tu hum. Lige wuz 
tu keep ’em all safe in th’ cabin, an’ we’d be back 
*fore sundown. We traded all rite, an’ mus’ hev 
got tu aour clearin’ ’long ’bout four o’clock. 
Ever’thin’ hed bin luvly so fur, but when we 
got in site o’ th’ place, an’ Polly seed th’ door 
wuz shet, she knowed suthin’ wuz wrong. Ye 
see, th’ wan’t no sense in shettin’ doors ’thout 
ye wanted tu keep suthin aout er suthin’ in, an’ 
so that shet door wuz a call to Polly fur ho’p. 
One look wuz enuf. She wuz daown frum be- 
hin’ me off that mule in a jiffy, an’ a-makin’ fur 
th’ cabin es fas’ es she cud go. I stopped jes’ 
long enuf tu tie th’ mule, but I wuz mighty 
narvous, lis’nin’ tu th’ saounds thet wuz a-com- 
in’ frum behin’ thet shet door. I thort o’ b’ars 
an’ painters an’ wil’ cats, which I’d hearn tell 
wuz all ’baout us, but I cudn’t tell what kind o’ 
anymule et wuz a-makin’ th’ racket. Whatever 
et wuz kep’ a-whinin’ an’ a-graowlin’; but I 
cudn’t hear nuthin’ o’ th’ three childern. I kort 
up with Polly jes’ by th’ woodpile, as she grab- 
bed th’ ax. ‘Th’s a b’ar in thar wi’ my babies!’ 
she snapped aout, ‘an’ we got tu du _ suthin’ 
quick.’ Th’ wuz fire in her eyes, I tell ye, an’ I’d 
hate tu hev bin a b’ar jes then. She tuck com- 
mand, as useyul, an’ I seconted her emoshun. 
Th’ door wuz shore shet tight. We knowed 
haow hard thet door wuz tu shet, an’ haow hard 
et wuz tu open arter et wuz shet. I hed cut a 
groove in th’ sill, an’ tu open et ye hed tu lif’ 
th’ hull thin’ stret up. I made Polly gi’ me th’ 
ax an’ stand by tu open th’ door. Haow I ever 
got inside thet cabin I don’t know, but I made 
et somehaow, an’ when I come tu my sense, I 
seed thar wuz a b’ar shore enuf, but et wan’t no 
fightin’, tearin’ feroshus creetur at all; jes a 
He looked mighty 
oncomfortabul jes then, runnin’ ’raound all 
humped up an’ a-whinin’ lek a whippt dorg. 
Polly, she spied th’ childern all safe up in th’ 
loft, firs’ thin’, an’ when we knowed they wuz 
all right, I got over my narvousness somewhat, 
an’ felt ankshus tu tackle th’ b’ar an’ du et 
*baout right—speshully sense he didn’t seem tu 
want tu tackle me. I didn’t know nuthin’ 
*baout killin’ b’ars, an’ I wa’n’t goin’ tu rush in 
an’ give him no chanst tu hug me—no sirree! 
So I sashayed over tu his end o’ th’ room, 
keepin’ a sharp lookaout fur trubbil all th’ time. 
He wuz able tu keep purty well aout o’ my way, 
an’ jes’ as quick es I’d mek a lick at him wi’ 
th’ ax, jes as quick he’d skip pas me to t’other 
end o’ th’ cabin. An’ when I’d stop tu git my 
wind, an’ he got a chanst tu rest, he’d git up on 
his haunches an’ hol’ his stummick wi’ his front 
paws like as ef he hed the bigges’ all-fired stum- 
mick-ache that ever happened. He’d dodge me 
an’ th’ ax, an’ whine, an’ then try fur th’ door, 
which Polly was a-watchin’ through a leetle 
crack. She’d wiggle th’ butcher knife in his 
ugly face an’ then he’d git anuther move on his- 
self. Thar wa’n’t no fight lef? in him; he hed a 
colic—en orful colic. Ye know haow ef ye kin 
keep a horse a-movin’ he’ll git over a spell o’ 
colic? Wall, arter I’d kep’ thet b’ar on th’ 
jump quite a spell—seemed lek a haour most— 
he ’gin.tu git better, an’ first thin’ I knowed he 
wuz purty nigh a-chasin’ me. He’d let aout a 
growl, an’ Mack would shore step lively then. 
I seed he wuz a-gettin’ over his stummick-ache. 
Suthin’ hed tu be done powerful quick now, an’ 
so when he made a rush fur me again I jes’ 
steps tu one side an’ kort him in th’ back o’ th’ 
hed wi’ my ax es he went pas’, an’ over he 
tumbled jes lek he wuz a horg. Reckon I mus’ 
hev cracked his ol’ skull, fur he didn’t git up, 
an’ the firs’ thin’ I knowed Polly wuz a pluggin’ 
intu him wi’ her meat knife. When she seed th’ 
blood come, she sort o’ gasped et what she hed 
done, an’ most’ keeled over on tu Mister B’ar 
what wuz a corpse alreddy, an’ I kort her in my 
arms. Well, we hugged one anuther when we 
seed haow the creetur wuz shore dead—we wuz 
thet glad, a-laffin’ an’ a-cryin’. Doc, here, wud 
hev diagonized et es highstrikes, but et wus 
jes bein’ glad all th’ way thru. Then Polly got 
th’ childern daown an’ mothered ’em a Jot, an’ 
we got th’ stret o’ the hull story. Lige, he sed 
th’ b’ar wuz a-comin’ in th’ door firs, he seed 
o’ him, an’ he got th’ baby an’ climbed th’ 
ladder tu th’ loft. Buddy cud come along tw’ 
alrite, an’ all this time th’ b’ar wuz a-shufflin’ 
*raound th’ cookin’ thin’s, payin’ no ’tension tu 
th’ childern. Th’ wuz so leetle lef’ in th’ cabin 
tu eat thet th’ b’ar soon got on his haind laigs 
tu snuff th’ strings o’ dried apples. Ye know 
a b’ar hes a sweet tewth. Waal, them dried 
apples tasted good tu him, an’ so he jes’ lit intu 
“em jes lek a hork on a June bug. By th’ time 
he’d finished th’ strings in reach he got mighty 
dry in his throat, an’ drank a lot of Polly’s rain 
worter. Then he went back an’ et more dried 
apples. So he stuffed apples an’ drank rain 
worter by turns, arter which th’ apples begin 
tu git in their work an’ swell up, which of 
course th’ b’ar cudn’t onderstan’, an’ all he did 
wuz to drink more worter an’ eat more apples. 
*Baout this time th’ door blowed shet, an’ 
Mister B’ar wuz ketched fas’ in a trap. By th’ 
time Polly an’ me got thar he wuz hevin’ the 
gol-darndest big colic thet ever wuz, an’ et wuz 
most a massy to put him aout o’ his misery. 
W’y, sir, thet b’ar ackshully hed tears in his 
eyes when he’d whine. The apples wuz all 
ruined er et up, but we hed b’ar meat fur quite a 
spell, an’ when we got tu work on his carcass 
we faoun’ he wuz swelled up mos’ lek he hed a 
bushel basket in his insides.” 
The company had long since suspended their 
whittling operations, and now gazed with un- 
disgttised wonderment on the only man in 
their ken who had ever killed a real live bear. 
Abey Staley voiced the thoughts of all when he 
delivered himself of, “Waal, et beats th’ deal, 
by dad, I'll be dad-burned ef et don’t—ye kain’t 
mos’ always sometimes tell what ye leas’ expect 
mos’. Who’d ever ha’ thort Mack killed a b’ar?” 
and calmly closed his Barlow, preparatory to 
going home. All arose and stretched their legs, 
and as they got under way, Mack added the last 
touch to the story, as he drove away, with, 
