Part 2

“Oh, there you are,” sez she, ignorin’ Magpie’s salutation, and lookin’ at me. “When do I get some hot water?”

“Drink or laundry?” I asks.

She bristles up as much as uh fat woman like her can bristle after uh night on uh real hard bunk, and snorts—

“Do you expect me to wash in cold water?”

“Ma’am,” sez I, “when it comes to expectin’ things I pass up wimmen. Not havin’ known me only uh few hours, and most uh them at night, I don’t see why my expectations should interest yuh so much. In this country uh person don’t git so awful dirty jist sleepin’, so we figger that anybody what is so much of uh dude as to want to wash in th’ mornin’ can do it in cold water.”

“I want some hot water and I want it immediately!” she howls, and waddles into th’ cabin.

“I’d say that th’ perfessor is more to be pitied than censured,” sez Magpie. “After listenin’ to her, and observin’ her face and figger, I can’t believe th’ perfessor’s statement that he’s ignorant uh natural history. She’s shore uh bear, Ike, and I’d——”

“Is that water ready for my ablution?” sez Mrs. Perfessor, stickin’ her head out of th’ door.

“Right away,” sez I, goin’ over and pickin’ up some sticks.

I don’t aim to invade her boodwah. Our stove ain’t five feet from my bunk, so I makes our li’l fire outside. Magpie follers me over with uh can uh water and puts it on th’ fire.

“Cripes!” sez he. “Ain’t uh woman uh queer proposition, Ike? She said at first that she wants to wash her face and——”

“She said she wanted to wash. She didn’t designate her face, Magpie.”

“That’s right. What is a ablution, Ike?”

“How do I know,” I snorts. “I ain’t no ladies’ maid, Magpie. If yuh wanted to know about rattlesnakes I’d be up on that.”

I gives her th’ can uh hot water and she operates in th’ cabin, so we don’t know yet what she done. I jist gits breakfast on th’ fire when th’ doc shows up. He does uh double shuffle in th’ trail when he gits in sight and seems tickled all over about somethin’.

“You haven’t got breakfast ready yet have you?” he whoops, as he leans his shotgun ag’in th’ cabin. “Heaven is my home! At last I have hit something.”

He digs down in th’ pockets of his huntin’ coat, and dumps uh pile uh birds on th’ ground.

“Blue grouse,” he pronounces. “I found a fine flock of them up th’ gulch. Can we have them for breakfast, Mister Harper?”

“How perfectly lovely,” gurgles Mrs. Perfessor. “I adore wild game. This will be a breakfast to remember. It must be wonderful to live in a country like this where you can go out and kill your meals.”

“Yeaus,” agrees th’ perfessor. “I’ll have mine grilled, if you don’t mind.”

I looks at Magpie, who is rollin’ uh cigaret and lookin’ at th’ ground, and sez to him—

“How would you like yore’s, Mister Simpkins?”

“Never eat meat fer breakfast,” he states. “I’ll jist take some mush and bacon. Anyway, there ain’t more’n enough fer our guests.”

“I can go and git some more,” sez th’ happy sawbones. “Greatest sport I ever had. They’re not a bit wild. I’m going to enjoy this meal because it’s the first one I ever furnished in this way.”

It was th’ only one of its kind I ever cooked, that’s uh cinch. They ate ’em, but there was’n’t much joy over that meal. Th’ Doc rastles one of ’em around fer uh while and gits up enough appetite to eat flap-jacks. When he finishes he lights one uh them burn-easy cigarets and opines to me that blue grouse is overrated as uh delicacy. I ain’t got th’ heart to disagree with him, and Magpie jist nods and turns away to light uh cigaret. Moose birds ain’t edzactly what you’d call “sweet and tender.”

* * * * *

“Are yuh ready to go with me?” asks Magpie, when we’re alone ag’in.

“Go where?”

“Down to see Mighty Jones.”

“It ain’t goin’ to take two of us to bring that tame ol’ bear back here, Magpie, and besides I’m goin’ to be uh heap busy tryin’ to locate uh offspring fer it.”

“We ain’t goin’ to bring it back here, Ike. Ain’t yuh got no imagination a-tall? Th’ perfessor orates that he desires uh wild grizzly, and it’s uh cinch he ain’t ignorant enough to accept uh domestic bear. We got to produce this here animile in his native haunts to make th’ play come right.”

All th’ time we’re pilgrimin’ down to Mighty’s wickiup he’s ponderin’ on uh place to stake out that bear.

“Better git th’ cub and it’s mama before yuh rents uh bungaloo fer ’em,” I advises. “I feels that there’s liable to be many uh slip from th’ grizzly to th’ perfessor. I needs that two hundred, Magpie, but when it comes to gittin’ into trouble, Ike Harper is neutral.”

This here li’l ol’ goat-headed Jones party sticks his head out of his cabin door and stares at me and Magpie. He don’t look friendly a-tall.

“We come down to git yer bear,” sez Magpie. “In th’ interests uh science I asks yuh to——”

Mighty must uh had that shotgun in his hand behind th’ door, ’cause Magpie only gits uh runnin’ start on his oration when we’re gazin’ down uh two-barreled muzzle-loader.

“Git!” sez Mighty.

Magpie looks right past Mighty’s off ear and yells—

“Don’t hit him with that club!”

I reckon Mighty must uh been excited to fall fer uh trick as ol’ as that, but he did. He whirls that ol’ gun around, an th’ next thing he knowed, Magpie has him pinned to th’ floor and I’m removin’ the caps off that gun.

“Now,” sez Magpie, “mebby you’ll listen to reason.”

“I will like ——!” snaps Mighty. “I’ll listen to what Magpie Simpkins has to say, but I’ll be teetotally danged if I’ll agree that it’s reason.”

“We comes on uh peaceful mission and meets uh armed force,” states Magpie. “If yuh wants visitors to carry uh flag uh truce, why don’t yuh advertise th’ fact, Mighty?”

“I minds my own business,” snorts Mighty. “Go ahead and talk, and I’ll listen if it chokes me.”

Magpie sets on Mighty’s floatin’ ribs, and tells him our troubles.

“But my bear ain’t no fe-male and I ain’t got no cub,” protests Mighty. “Anyway, ol’ Abe is sick. I reckon he’s gittin’ too blamed ol’. Seems like he don’t harbor nothin’ but uh bellyache, Magpie. I been dopin’ th’ ol’ sinner fer weeks to keep him on his feet. Dog-gone, he’s th’ only friend I got left. I tries to give him uh dose uh castor ile yesterday, and he tore my shirt off and swallers th’ whole bottle. I don’t reckon it’ll do him any good thataway do you?”

“If yuh knowed jist what part uh his anatomy it’s reposin’ in yuh might kick him and loosen th’ cork,” I suggests, but Mighty shakes his head.

“It can’t be done, Ike. Th’ cork was broke off short.”

“Where is he now?” asks Magpie, risin’ from Mighty’s carcass, and settin’ on th’ bunk.

Mighty rubs th’ creases out of his skin, and rolls uh smoke.

“He’s up on th’ hill back uh my stable, I reckon. Danged ol’ toothless walloper’s done formed uh friendship with uh badger. Can yuh beat it? Them two sets up there on uh rock in th’ sun and snoozes all day.”

“Heavenly dove!” whoops Magpie, grab-bin’ Mighty by th’ wishbone. “Do yuh suppose they’re up there now?”

“I reckon,” gasps Mighty. “Leggo my neck, dog-gone yuh. What’s there to git excited about?”

“Do yuh reckon we could ketch that badger?” askes Magpie.

“I reckon yuh could. He ain’t uh bit wild. I pretty nigh puts my hands on him yesterday when I goes up to try and feed Abe some liver pills. I leaves some fer th’ badger but I don’t reckon he took ’em.”

“Tell yuh what I’ll do,” sez Magpie. “If you’ll rent us yore bear and help us take him over to that ol’ tunnel uh Big Foot Smith’s and let us use him fer uh few days I’ll give yuh ten dollars. We’ll guarantee not to hurt th’ ol’ feller none.”

“That’s reasonable, Magpie, but I don’t sabe what yuh wants th’ badger fer.”

“If we can pass ol’ Abe off as uh fe-male grizzly, I don’t reckon we’ll have much trouble in passin’ that badger off fer its cub. Dog-gone it, they look uh heap like uh li’l bear, at that, Mighty.”

“How yuh goin’ to ketch him?” I asks.

“That’s yore chore, Ike. Git uh rope and make good.”

Th’ Harper tribe allus was noted fer their gameness. I gits Mighty’s rope and ambles up back of th’ stable. I sees th’ bear. He’s sunnin’ out there on uh ledge uh rock, and don’t pay no attention to me a-tall. I reckon he’s got troubles of his own which keeps him occupied. I sneaks around behind him, and there I sees Mister Badger. He’s shore uh whopper, and he’s stretched out on th’ rock with his head turned th’ other way.

I gits th’ loop to swingin’ right, and braces my feet. I ain’t what you’d call a expert with uh rope. In fact I’m of th’ garden variety when it comes to swingin’ th’ rope, but I’m game. I gives th’ rope uh last whirl and lets her go. Did I git that badger? I’d tell uh man I did! Also, I gits th’ bear.

Uh bear and uh badger may be good pals when they’re separated, but friendship ceases when yuh pulls ’em together in th’ loop of uh rope. Also they makes it uncomfortable fer th’ party on th’ other end of th’ rope.

When I stops at th’ cabin I ain’t wearin’ no pants, but I got uh’ strangle holt on that ol’ badger. Pore ol’ Abie gits loose about half-way home, and he shore moves spry-like to th’ top of th’ cabin, where he orates his displeasure and shows symptoms uh liver trouble. They helps me hog-tie that badger, and then Mighty complains uh heap about his pet.

“Ike, yuh ought to be careful about Abe,” sez he. “There wa’n’t no sense in gittin’ him all excited thataway. Mebby he’ll have uh relapse, and I ain’t got uh liver pill left. He’s uh sick animile.”

“Th’ —— he is!” sez I. “He tore my pants off, and almost clears th’ cabin in one jump, so I don’t reckon he’s so danged bad off. We got female folks at our house, so I reckon yuh better loan me uh pair uh pants to go home in, Mighty.”

He ain’t got nothin’ but uh pair uh overalls, which don’t meet by six inches at th’ waist and lingers jist below th’ knee, but I puts ’em on. We ties th’ badger to uh pole, which me and Magpie packs, and Mighty leads Abe and his bellyache with uh rope. Big Foot’s prospect ain’t been worked fer so long that it’s all grown up ag’in and looks like uh natcheral cave.

“Here’s th’ idea,” states Magpie. “We’ll put th’ bear and badger in th’ ol’ tunnel. Then we’ll git th’ perfessor and his outfit to come over and see us separate them. We’ll keep that alleged cub over to th’ cabin long enough to satisfy th’ perfessor. Sabe?”

“You got another think comin’ if you thinks that Abe and that ol’ badger is goin’ to hibernate peaceful like in that hole while yu goes over to head th’ peerade,” objects Mighty. “Since Ike stirred ’em up thataway, Abe ain’t acted noways friendly toward th’ badger, and said badger ain’t got no love fer nobody after ridin’ upside down on uh pole fer two miles. How am I goin’ to know how Abie’s bellyache is, all this time. I can’t stay with him.”

“Do you think I’m goin’ to lose all that money jist because there ain’t no love lost between two dumb brutes?” snorts Magpie. “Big Foot must uh been afraid that somebody was goin’ to invade his ol’ prospect when he built that door at th’ entrance, but he shore simplified things fer us. We’ll stick Abe and his imitation cub inside an’ block th’ door. By th’ time we git back they’ll be friendly ag’in.”

“Abie’s bellyache—” begins Mighty, but Magpie shuts him up.

“Gosh A’mighty, you gives me uh pain! No wonder that pore bear’s got uh stummick ache. You’d give uh wooden Injun th’ pip, Mighty. Mebby if yuh quits givin’ him all them patent medicines he’d be uh heap better bear and last longer. That stuff’s causin’ all his hair to come out. If yuh don’t quit he won’t even make uh decent rug.”

Abie goes in plumb willin’ but the badger objects. He tries to squeeze out, but twistin’ uh stick in his hide sorta disgusts him and he retires. Mighty pilgrims off home, and me and Magpie goes back to our cabin.

“Ike,” orates Magpie, “this is uh cinch. That badger resembles uh li’l bear uh heap, don’t yuh know it? Also, Abie is so shy on hair that nobody could prove whether he’s black, brown or gray. Let’s be glad.”

“Lets be glad uh li’l later on,” I suggests. “I’m strong on this here gladsome stuff, Magpie, but this here idea uh countin’ yore scientific experiments before they’re done experimentin’ is uh heap like lightin’ yore last match to see if it’s uh good one before yuh goes to th’ trouble uh makin’ uh cigaret.”

* * * * *

Th’ perfessor is sunnin’ hisself by th’ cabin when we gits back, and th’ doc is fussin’ with uh pho-tygraft apparatus. They welcomes us real heartily, and th’ perfessor is uh heap excited and pleased to know that we’re ready fer th’ experiment.

“I hope I can get some good action in a bear picture,” states th’ doc. “It will help in provin’ th’ perfessor’s experiments.”

That was some pilgrimage. We strings out in single file, with Magpie in th’ lead and th’ perfessor next. We places th’ fe-male next in line, allowin’ considerable space between her and th’ doc, in case she should rear up and fall over backwards on some of th’ steep pitches. Also, fer safety sake I packs th’ doc’s shotgun. When we reaches the alleged bear den we finds Mighty settin’ at th’ door.

“Abe’s ailin’ ag’in,” sez he, solemn like, lookin’ th’ outfit over.

“Who is Abe?” asks th’ doc.

“His pardner,” states Magpie, winkin’ hard at Mighty. “He seems to have pains in his stummick most of th’ time.”

“Appendicitis,” pronounces th’ doc. “May need an operation.”

“Doctor,” sez th’ perfessor, “this is no time to talk of operations. Prepare your camera and try and picture the proceedings.” And then he asks Magpie—

“Are you sure that the mother and young are in the cave?”

“Pore ol’ Abe comes to th’ door and—” complains Mighty, but th’ doc pats him on th’ shoulder and sez:

“Never mind. Just as soon as possible I will diagnose his case. I may have to remove his appendix.”

“I don’t reckon that’s what ails him a-tall,” states Mighty. “Yuh see he’s been used to havin’ his meat cut up fer him but, bein’ as I ain’t no Daniel, I didn’t care to center th’ den, so I jist throws in uh saddle uh venison to him and slams th’ door. Mebby he overeats.”

“Unique way to treat a patient, isn’t it, Doctor?” puffs Mrs. Perfessor, from where she rests her bulk on uh log.

“It is,” agrees th’ doc, reprovin’ like. “You should have given him some broth.”

“Never had none,” sez Mighty. “Patent medicines don’t help him none, anyway. Say, Magpie, I got to worryin’ about Abe and his roommate gittin’ in uh fight so I comes over after you left and tied th’ cub to uh timber in there.”

That made it plumb easy. All we has to do is go inside, lead th’ cub out and shut th’ door. Ol’ Abe pokes his head out and wails uh few stanzas, and th’ doc snaps his pitcher machine.

“Wonderful!” whoops th’ perfessor. “You men have earned that bonus right now. You have shown yourselves so competent that I am willing to chance the rest of it. Do you suppose your friend here, with the sick partner, would accept a small remuneration for his services?”

“Without uh doubt,” sez Mighty, before Magpie has uh chance to open his mouth and th’ perfessor slips Mighty a yaller-backed bill.

“Thanks, ol’-timer,” sez Mighty. “That’ll buy me one uh them things what yuh grind meat up in. Yuh see, Abe’s teeth ain’t what they used to be, and when he eats meat he gits them pains and he’s liable to bite or claw ——, I begs yore pardon, ma’am, out uh me.”

“Not appendicitis symptoms,” states th’ doc. “Does he have hallucinations?”

“No,” sez Mighty. “Leastwise I don’t reckon he has. He’s showed symptoms uh St. Vitus dance and th’ bellyache and has moulted most of his hair, but I reckon that ol’ age sneakin’ up on him makes him thataway more’n anythin’ else.”

“How old is he?” asks Mrs. Perfessor.

“Don’t know edzactly, ma’am. I killed his mother when he was comin’ uh year ol’ but I don’t remember what year that was. He’s had uh lot uh sickness, ma’am, and most all th’ hair’s rubbed off his belly, which uh course makes him look older than he really is. Sabe?”

Mebby she don’t sabe, but anyway, she don’t ask no more questions. She takes uh sixty hoss-power look at Mighty, and ambles right off up th’ trail. Th’ doc looks sorta surprised at Mighty, but th’ perfessor don’t pay no attention. He’s busy gloatin’ over that badger.

“Gracious,” sez he. “The young of the grizzly surely do mature young. Doctor, just look at those claws. Do they lose that stripe on the back like a young deer loses it’s spots?”

“Uh-huh,” sez Magpie. “All bears is striped when they’re born, except black ones and they’re purple”.

Me and Magpie has to pack that badger all th’ way over to our cabin. We tries to lead it, but that wasn’t a success. It starts all right, but th’ perfessor is in th’ road, figgerin’ in his note-book. That rope gits familiar with his long legs, and he’s some strung out when we gits ’em separated, but he don’t mind. He sets there on th’ ground and figgers in his note-book, while we untangles th’ rope off his feet, and never pays no attention a-tall.

When we gits home we ties th’ badger to uh tree. Me and Magpie figgers that our labors is over fer uh while, so we aims to take life easy fer uh spell. Th’ doc is busy shootin’ up th’ tin cans around camp, Mrs. Perfessor is croshayin’ what looks like uh pair uh ear-muffs fer uh blacktail deer, and th’ perfessor is studyin’ th’ actions of uh peeved badger, so me and Magpie goes down on th’ crick, where we got some bedrock stripped.

We’re busy pannin’ out some dirt about an hour later when we hears an uproar back at th’ cabin.

“Now, somebody has gone and raised ——” snorts Magpie. “Them is natcherally quiet folks, Ike, and not given to loud nor unseemly noises, so there must be uh good reason. Mebby that danged badger’s got away.”

“More likely th’ doc’s hit somethin’,” I orates. “Mebby he mistakes th’ perfessor’s wife fer uh tin can. She’s built thataway.”

We hikes back to camp and finds things considerable disturbed. Th’ doc is settin’ on th’ steps of th’ cabin, wearin’ uh injured expression and uh torn shirt. Mrs. Perfessor is limpin’ around th’ place like uh hound pup cuttin’ circles to find uh place to lay down. Perfessor Phinney is still settin’ there studyin’ th’ badger, which seems considerable riled over somethin’.

“What’s th’ trouble?” asks Magpie.

“Maternal instinct!” snorts th’ doc.

“Nothing to get excited about,” wheezes th’ lady, tearin’ uh strip uh cloth off her skirt, and cinchin’ up uh cut on her wrist. “Perhaps it wasn’t a complete success, Doctor, but we’ll have to do it again sooner or later. It was merely a humane act.”

“Then I’m not very strong for humanity. Hereafter I draw the line to playing wet nurse to a grizzly.”

“We overlooked one point,” states Mrs. Perfessor, wise like. “To remove an offspring of that age from its mother is like taking the sunshine from the flowers or the dew from the grass. Know what I mean?”

“She means,” states th’ doc, fingerin’ th’ long gash in his pant leg. “She means that th’ blasted brute needs milk to prolong its young life, and she induces me to help her let it imbibe condensed milk from a can.”

“It was interesting to note that condensed milk did not appeal to its palate,” remarks th’ perfessor, makin’ more notes in his book.

“My ——,” sez Magpie. “Did yuh try to feed it cold canned milk?”

“Yes, did it need warming?” asks th’ lady.

“Shore thing. They won’t eat it cold. Next time yuh wants to set th’ can on the stove fer about fifteen minutes.”

“Live and learn,” quotes th’ doc. “I knew something was wrong.”

That night Mighty Jones comes over to git somethin’ fer uh tooth ache.

“Gol’ A’mighty,” sez he. “I got to have somethin’ or lose my mind.”

“If that’s all, yuh ain’t so danged bad off,” sez Magpie. “But rather than see yuh lose somethin’ yuh never had I’ll let yuh take our Jap oil bottle. Rub uh li’l on th’ tooth, and she’ll be better than new.”

Mighty takes th’ bottle and goes off down th’ trail holdin’ on to his jaw. Did yuh ever hear of Jap oil? It’s th’ concentrated essense uh dynamite, hell’s fire and asphyxiation. It cures anything. Never knew anybody to ask fer uh second helpin’, but it shore is uh whole medicine chest fer uh prospector. It’s jist as good fer penumonia as it is fer uh busted leg, and I knowed uh feller oncet who kept th’ pack-rats out of his cabin by jist pastin’ th’ label off uh bottle on his front door. Achin’ teeth is jist uh vacation chore to that medicine.

* * * * *

Th’ next mornin’ me and Magpie goes over to do uh li’l work on th’ crick, and th’ doc goes off across th’ hills with his shotgun. Th’ perfessor and th’ badger gits busy watchin’ each, other ag’in. Long about ten o’clock we decides to drift back to camp to see how things is progressin’.

We’re up on uh point above th’ shack where we can git uh clear view uh th’ country, and about two hundred yards below th’ cabin we sees th’ doc. He’s doin’ uh reg’-lar Injun sneak in some bull-pines. We watches him sorta sad like fer uh while, figgerin’ that he won’t hit what he’s sneakin’ on, when we happens to see what he’s after. Up th’ creek bottom comes Mighty Jones and Abe. Abe is humpin’ along about ten feet ahead uh Mighty. Mighty seems uh heap sore at th’ bear, and anxious to overtake him.

“Blasted ol’ ossified porkypine,” wails Magpie. “Bringin’ that moth-eaten, alleged grizzly right over where it spoils our whole game. Let’s git down there and stop him in th’ brush.”

We breaks down past camp. Th’ perfessor is still studyin’ th’ badger. Mrs. Perfessor sticks her head out of th’ door and yells somethin’ at us as we goes past, but we don’t stop—not a-tall. We’re jist passin’ th’ cabin, when:

“Blam! Blam!” goes doc’s shotgun down in th’ timber.

“Come on, Ike!” pants Magpie, stretchin’ out his long legs like uh bull elk goin’ to water, and hurdlin’ everythin’ except the lodge-pole. He didn’t need to waste his wind thataway. I’m with him.

We busts into uh li’l clearin’, where we first sees th’ doc doin’ his sneak, and we runs into th’ queerest bunch uh misery I ever seen. I’ve seen uh cougar with th’ St. Vitus dance and an ulcerated tooth, and I’ve beheld uh jack-rabbit which was shot in th’ north end with uh load uh rock-salt, but by th’ whisperin’ wolves, this here exhibition makes ’em all look like uh stachoo uh peaceful moments. Right there in th’ clearin’ is pore ol’ Abe, and he shore is adjustin’ hisself to suit local conditions.

First he puts his head down between his front legs and does uh lot uh contortion work that would stump uh snake. He whizzes across th’ clearin’ like uh fur pin-wheel, uncouples hisself and comes back with his nose in th’ dirt and sorrow in his soul.

He’s jist about half-way back, and me and Magpie is standin’ there with our jaw-bones restin’ on our chests, when:

“Bling! Bling!” goes uh six-gun.

Not knowin’ th’ angle uh them shots, we immediate and soon assumes uh reclinin position.

Mebby them shots was uh heap opportune, cause if we hadn’t uh laid down of our own accord, ol’ Abe shore would have spread us some.

He didn’t seem to pay no attention to them shots, but somethin’ in his carcass seems to say, “Go east, ol’ bear, go east,” and Abie shore heeds th’ summons, and hurries right across us.

He plants one foot on th’ part uh my carcass where uh civilized man wears his rear collar button, and his long toe-nails seems to shake dice all th’ way down my vertebray.

We arises too late to see him leave, but he’s shore pointed toward our happy home.

“Abie seems to have hit his second childhood,” yawns Magpie. “I’d ——”

“Did I hit it?” yells uh voice across th’ clearin’, and there stands th’ doc.

He shore is uh sight. He sets there, hangin’ onto uh tree, and tries to watch four directions to oncet. His hat is gone along with uh lot of his clothes, and his respect as uh big game hunter seems to leak out of every pore.

“There was two,” he wails. “I shot one, and before I could see whether I had killed it or not, the other one walked all over me. I didn’t know they went in flocks. I lost my gun. I wonder if I hit it?”