Part 2

“But, Mr. Loup, I haven’t done anything to you. Won’t you let me go this time? I’ll promise to be your friend, and--”

“No!” roared the Lynx so loudly that the echo went ringing up and down the river.

He raised a great paw to grasp Buster, who to escape it dove under the water and disappeared for an instant; but he couldn’t stay there long, and when he reappeared there was the menacing paw raised to strike him.

Loup really liked to torture his victims. It wasn’t his nature to kill them outright. It gave him great pleasure to see them suffer. If he had struck at Buster at once, he might have killed him in one blow; but he didn’t, and that was what saved the little bear’s life. There was rescue at hand which neither one dreamed of.

There was a sudden splash in the water, and then a dull thud as something hard and heavy struck Loup on the nose. He jumped back with a scream of rage. At first he thought Buster had played a trick on him, but when another heavy thing hit him on the back of the head he knew differently.

From the shore there came excited cries. “Hit him again! Let me try him this time!”

Loup glanced that way, and understood instantly. Two men were standing on the shore pelting him with rocks. Two of them had hit him, and others were coming his way. There was no fight in Loup when caught in the water, and with a scream of rage he turned and swam for the opposite bank. He wasn’t going to risk the loss of his life for the sake of a good dinner.

The next story will tell how Buster met the men, and was carried away as a captive.

STORY IV

BUSTER IS CARRIED AWAY BY THE MEN

Buster was nearly as much surprised as Loup by the sudden appearance of the men, but he lacked the strength to turn and swim back to the other side of the river. Indeed, between fear and his hard struggle he was almost ready to give up and sink. He felt he couldn’t take many more strokes even to save his life.

At first he thought the rocks were being hurled at him, but as they followed Loup half way across the river, the men throwing them until the Lynx was out of reach, he concluded that maybe he was safer on that side with the men than on the other with his old enemy. This belief was strengthened when the men stopped bombarding the Lynx, and turned to Buster.

“It’s a young bear!” said one of the men.

“Sure! I told you so before. We must save him. Here, little fellow! Come here! We won’t hurt you!”

Buster looked at them with eyes that seemed ready to pop out of his head. He was so thankful that the men were not going to hurt him that he swam straight toward them. One ran out to meet him, and caught him in his arms.

“The poor little fellow’s hurt,” the man said, noticing the blood on Buster’s shoulder where Loup’s claw had caught him when he first tumbled in the river.

“I wish we had a gun to shoot that Lynx,” remarked the other. “I’ll come back and lay for him.”

The man holding Buster stroked his head and back, as he carried him up on dry land. “The poor little fellow’s tired out and half dead with fright,” he added.

“And hungry, too,” said the second man. “We must find him some warm milk. Got any in the camp?”

“Nothing but condensed milk.”

“Well, we’ll try him with that.”

They carried Buster up to their camp in the woods, and brought out a can of condensed milk. After warming some of this over the fire, they gave it to Buster.

Nothing ever tasted so good as that milk, for Buster was cold, tired and still trembling from fright and weakness. He didn’t know it until then, but he was dreadfully hungry, so hungry that he couldn’t stop until he had lapped up the last drop.

The two men watched him in silence, and then patted him on the back. “You were hungry, little chap, weren’t you?” remarked one. “Well, that’s enough for the present. We don’t want to make you sick.”

“Oh, give him a bit of this honey-comb for dessert. That won’t hurt him.”

And then to Buster’s delight, the man handed him something, the very odor of which sent the blood tingling through his veins. One taste of it, and Buster was in ecstasy. It was his first taste of honey, and the grunt of pleasure that escaped his lips sent the men into a roar of laughter.

“The little chap’s having the time of his life,” one laughed. “Like Oliver Twist he’ll be begging for more when that’s gone.” Of course, Buster didn’t know anything about Oliver Twist, but he did know that he could eat that delicious honey all day, and when the last drop was gone he did beg for more.

“Stand on your hind legs and ask for it, and I’ll give it to you,” said the man.

Buster didn’t know exactly what he meant, but it was much easier to reach up to the hand containing the honey when he stood on two legs, and he unconsciously obeyed.

“Now ask for it.”

Buster opened his mouth and snapped at it, but the hand was raised beyond his reach. Then, disappointed, he uttered a little cry of eagerness. To his surprise the man gave him the honey.

“That’s right,” he laughed. Then turning to his companion, he added: “I’m going to teach him tricks, Jim. You can teach a young cub almost anything if you begin early enough.”

All this was strange talk to Buster, but he had learned the first lesson of his new life--the trick of begging. After that when he wanted milk or honey or anything else, he stood up on his hind legs and grunted or cried for it. He found that he always got what he wanted in this way.

With his little stomach full of rich milk and sweet honey, Buster grew very sleepy, and when he curled up to rest one of his rescuers spread a warm blanket over him. In a few minutes he was lost in slumberland.

When Buster awoke he had a queer sensation of being carried in a hammock or something equally soft and comfortable. It was so different from his hard bed on the rocks! His first thought was that it was all part of a dream, but remembering his experience with Loup the Lynx he shuddered, and set up a call for his mother. He was frightened, and whimpered so loudly that the man carrying him opened the blanket and peeked in.

“What is it, Buster?” he asked, addressing him by the very name his mother had always called him. “Hungry again?”

Buster was indeed hungry again, but he was also homesick and wanted his mother. He kept on whimpering when the man took him out of the blanket and patted him.

“Oh, give him something to eat, Bill, and stop his crying,” said the man’s companion.

So they stopped long enough to feed him again, and after that Buster felt less homesick, and, it must be confessed, forgot his mother. The men began playing with him, and Buster rolled over and gnawed at a stick for them until they roared with laughter.

“Do you know, Jim,” said one of his captors, “we’ve got a rich prize in that cub. He’s the most intelligent little chap I ever saw. I wonder where he came from.”

“Probably his mother was killed, and that Lynx knew it, and was trying to make a dinner off him.”

“I’d like to get a crack at that lynx some day.”

“So would I. But I’m mighty glad we saved the cub. He’ll make a fine pet. He’s as playful as a dog.”

Buster was a little startled to hear that his mother had probably been killed. That would account for her not returning to the cave when he called her. Had Loup killed her? No, Buster didn’t think so, for his mother was big and powerful, and could easily knock a lynx over with one blow from her paw. Then who was her murderer, or wasn’t she dead?

These questions were too hard for Buster to answer, and he soon stopped trying to think of them. Meanwhile, he was safe and well fed, and his two captors liked him. Why should he worry about something that couldn’t be helped?

At night time the men came to a cabin near the edge of the woods, and Buster was given a warm blanket in one corner of it. He watched them cook their evening meal, and ate whatever they fed him. The bacon sizzling in the frying pan smelt so good that Buster poked his nose in it, and then drew back with a howl of pain. It burnt his little nose and brought the tears to his eyes.

“Let that be a lesson, Buster, not to poke your nose in things that don’t belong to you,” laughed one of the men. Then he handed him a piece of bacon well cooked, and not too hot. Buster swallowed it in one gulp.

“What are you going to do with the little fellow, Jim?” suddenly asked one of the men. “You know we can’t keep him in the city.”

“I’ve thought of that,” replied the other slowly. “The only thing we can do is to sell him. He ought to be worth something.”

This was the first hint to Buster that he wasn’t always going to live with his captors, and it made him very sad. When bears were sold, what became of them? Buster didn’t know, and he went to sleep very troubled. But he wasn’t sold after all, and in the next story you will hear how he was stolen.

STORY V

HOW BUSTER WAS STOLEN

Buster remained three whole days in the camp with the two men who had saved him from Loup the Lynx, and during that time he learned many things that his mother had never taught him. For one thing he learned manners.

One day he stuck his nose in the pot of soup on the table and began licking it up until a hand grasped him by the neck, and jerked him back. “Buster, you’ve got to learn your manners, and the time to begin is when you’re young,” said the man who held him. “Now I must punish you so you’ll never stick your nose in the soup again without remembering it.”

With that two sharp blows from a small stick landed on Buster’s nose. He yelped with pain, and tried to run away, but his captor held him. “The next time you will get three blows instead of two,” he added gravely. Buster never repeated the offence.

For another thing he learned it paid to be obliging. When the men asked him to jump over a stick or dance on his hind legs, he received a double lump of sugar if he promptly obeyed. A little extra dance, or a new kind of trick, always brought something to reward him. Buster was shrewd enough to connect the two together--the trick and the reward.

But there was one thing he hadn’t learned, and it got him in trouble again just as it did that day when he disobeyed his mother in leaving the cave when she was away. The men had to go away for a few hours, and they shut Buster up in the cabin, with the remark:

“You stay in here, Buster, and watch the camp. We’ll be back soon.”

“Better close that window, Jim,” remarked the other. “He might climb up to it and get out.”

“No, it will be too hot in here. Besides, I think we can trust Buster. He won’t try to get out.”

Of course, when they left Buster had no intention of disobeying. He was satisfied to curl up in a corner of the cabin and sleep until they returned; but they were gone for a long time, and late in the afternoon he got very restless.

“I’ll climb up there and look out,” he said to himself, glancing up at the window. “They didn’t tell me not to do that.”

To reach the window he had to climb up on the stout table, and jump from that to the broad window-sill. This feat wasn’t so difficult, for Buster had learned to use his claws with great skill in climbing. The jump to the window-sill was a short one, but he nearly missed it, and had to scramble desperately to prevent a fall.

Once on the window-sill, however, he was well repaid for his trouble. It was a beautiful day outside, and the woods smelt so sweet and attractive that Buster felt a strange longing to get out there and roll around among the leaves. But he wasn’t going to do it. No, he remembered the words of his captors, and while he had made no promise he intended to obey them.

Just the same when Groundy the Woodchuck came along and cast a long shadow in front of the window, Buster leaned so far out that he nearly lost his balance. Groundy glanced up, and at first was startled and ready to run; but when he saw that Buster was no more than a cub, only a little larger than himself, he stopped and spoke to him.

“What are you doing up there?” he asked. “You don’t live in that house, do you? If you don’t look out the owners will come along and catch you.”

“They’ve caught me already,” replied Buster. “That’s why I’m here, Groundy.”

“Oh, then you’re a prisoner!” sighed Groundy. “I’m sorry for you. Are you tied by a chain?”

“Indeed, I’m not! They don’t chain me up. I’m not a prisoner, either.”

Groundy looked at him in silence, not quite able to understand. Buster was grinning at him as if he enjoyed his perplexity. Finally, Groundy said:

“I can’t believe you, Buster. But there’s one way to show me. If you’re not a prisoner, tied by a chain, climb down here. Then I’ll believe you.”

“I can’t--” began Buster, and then stopped. Of course, if he said that Groundy would go away convinced that he was actually chained inside the window.

“I thought so,” nodded Groundy. “Well, I’m sorry for you. I must be going now.”

“Wait a minute!” called Buster. “I’ll climb down just to show you, but I can’t stay.”

It really wouldn’t do any harm, he thought, to climb down and right back again to show Groundy that he was free. He would do it so quickly that he would be back in the cabin again before any one saw him. Groundy was waiting for him, and Buster couldn’t disappoint him now.

He dropped easily to the ground under the window, and cried: “How was that for a jump, Groundy! You couldn’t do better, could you?”

“No, but the thing that puzzles me is, how are you going to get back again? Anybody can jump down a hill, but not many can jump up it. Can you jump back to the window-sill?”

Buster had not given much thought to this. He looked up, and the window was so high above his head he knew that he could never jump half the way.

“I don’t know,” he stammered. “But maybe I can climb back. I’ve got good claws, and I can climb a tree.”

“That may be, Buster, but you can’t climb the side of a house,” replied Groundy. “If you can I’ll watch you.”

Groundy squatted down, and Buster anxious to show how well he could climb started to go up the side of the house; but a bear hugs a tree when climbing it, and Buster couldn’t get his paws around the cabin any more than he could fly to the moon. He made several attempts to dig his claws in the logs to pull himself up, but each time he tumbled back to the ground before he could reach half way. But he wasn’t going to give up trying right away, and again and again he made the attempt until completely exhausted.

“You can’t do it, Buster,” remarked Groundy finally, rising to his feet. “I knew you couldn’t. It’s easier to roll down a hill than roll up it.”

Buster was greatly disappointed, and he looked around to find something that he could roll under the window and climb up that way; but a noise in the woods suddenly startled Groundy.

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered. “I must be going. Better come with me, Buster.”

“No,” was the reply. “I live here now, and I won’t run away just because I disobeyed and got in trouble.”

Perhaps it would have been better for him had he accepted Groundy’s invitation; but he didn’t know that, and it was to his credit that he stayed. He knew that he had done wrong in climbing out of the window, but two wrongs don’t make a right, and Buster decided that he would face his masters and let them punish him if they wanted to.

But he received a severe shock the next minute. A stranger appeared around the side of the cabin, and another on the other side. They were not pleasant looking. They were very unlike the two men who had rescued him from the river.

“Head him off!” shouted one. “Don’t let him get away!”

Buster was too surprised and frightened to run, and before he knew it he was caught by four stout arms and something thick and blinding was thrown over his head. He grunted and squealed, but nobody seemed to hear him. He was picked up and carried swiftly away in the woods and for a long time he was jounced and pounded about in a thick blanket that completely covered him.

When he finally got a peek of daylight again, he was in a strange place, with two evil-looking faces bending over him. In the next story you will hear about Buster’s new masters.

STORY VI

BUSTER’S CRUEL MASTERS

Buster was so enraged at the treatment he had received that the moment one of the men touched him he growled and snapped at the hand. He had nearly suffocated in the blanket, and all the way through the woods he had been bounced and jounced around cruelly. His captors had seemed to take delight in tormenting him.

So you cannot exactly blame him for being very angry when one of the men poked him in the ribs with a hand. The hand was quickly withdrawn the moment Buster snapped at it.

“The little beast,” snarled the owner of the hand. “I’ll teach him to bite!”

Before Buster knew what was coming, he was slapped over the head with a stout stick. It stunned him for a moment, and he lay very quiet. But when he got back his senses, he showed his teeth again and sprang for the man.

This time he was knocked over and kicked about the room until he ached in every bone. His two captors came for him with short, stout sticks, which they used freely. Again and again Buster sprang at them, and tried to bite them, but each time he was knocked down.

You see, Buster was only a cub, and he was no match for two full grown men, but he had the spirit of his wild ancestors in him, and he fought until he was hardly able to stand up. Then he dropped down sullen and resentful, beaten into silence, but with his spirit still flaming with anger.

From that day began a new life for Buster. He was no longer treated kindly and coaxed to do tricks. Every time he failed to do what his captors demanded of him he was kicked and cuffed about, and when he obeyed them he was not rewarded by any sugar or honey.

Indeed, he never tasted either of these sweet things. What he had to eat were scraps of bread or meat which the men threw to him after they had eaten all they wanted. Instead of having the freedom of a cabin, he was kept chained up in a small, dark hut.

And what a hut it was! It was dirty and smelly, with scarcely any sun or daylight in it. At night time the men lighted a dirty old lamp or a smelly candle which spluttered and dripped without giving much light. His bed was the bare, hard floor, with nothing for a covering except a few whisps of straw.

Buster rebelled at all this treatment. He couldn’t get used to it. The men never spoke a kind word to him, nor ever patted him on the back in a friendly way. They whipped him for the slightest thing, and made him so afraid of them that finally he ran whenever one of them approached.

But even this wasn’t the worst of his captivity. In a short time his captors began to teach him to dance and do tricks, but not in the gentle way his former friends did. They put a muzzle on his nose so he could not bite any one, and tied a chain to his neck. Then with a long pole, one end of which was sharpened, they prodded him into dancing. If he didn’t dance fast enough to suit them they jabbed him with the sharp pole, and sometimes when he was so tired he could hardly stand they made him stand on his head and turn a somersault.

As a reward for all this Buster was given a few dry crusts of bread and a drink of water, but never any honey or sugar. At night time, sore and tired, he would curl up in the corner of his room, and think of the past. With tears in his eyes, he thought of his happy home in the cave, of his mother who was so kind to him, of Loup the Lynx, and of the two men who had saved him from the river, and fed him with rich milk and sugar and honey.

Oh, how he wished he was back with them or at home in the cave with his mother! But wishing wouldn’t help him, and after a while he began planning a way to escape. He decided to be good, and obey his cruel masters, but the first chance he had he would run away from them.

After that Buster became a model bear. He tried to please his masters, not because he liked them, but because he was waiting for the chance to run away. He was really a very bright bear, and within a couple of months he could do many tricks and stunts. He was given a tin cup, which he was taught to hold out to people, and when pennies were placed in it he bowed and carried them to the man with the pole.

One day he was taken out on the streets, and was led along until they came to some children playing. One of his masters played a wheezy old organ, while the other shook the chain and told Buster to dance.

Now dancing out in the fresh air, with children watching him and clapping their hands, was very much pleasanter than in his dirty room, and Buster enjoyed it. He danced as he never did before, and when the man holding the chain told him to stand on his head and turn a somersault he obeyed promptly.

There was a clapping of hands, and a shout of pleasure came from all sides. Buster got to his feet, bowed, and repeated the performance. Then a little girl, holding the hand of a gentleman, approached Buster and handed him a stick of candy.

It was time for him to pass the tin cup for pennies, but Buster was so pleased with the little girl’s attention, and so hungry for something sweet, that he forgot his duties and took the candy. But before he could put it in his mouth the man with the chain jerked him back and prodded him with the sharp pole.

Buster grunted with pain and hurriedly picked up the tin cup. A shout of anger went up from the crowd, and the gentleman holding the little girl’s hand spoke sharply to Buster’s master. Then he picked up the stick of candy and handed it to Buster, who took it and tucked it in his mouth. How sweet and delicious it tasted! It made him think of the days when he was kept in the cabin with the two campers who had rescued him from the river.

Once more there came a jerk on the chain, and the pole prodded him in the side. He had forgotten to pass the tin cup for pennies. The candy had made him forget his duties.

Now it was not Buster’s fault that the crowd didn’t fill his cup with pennies. Indeed, it was because they knew the money was to go to the two men and not to Buster that the people refused to pay.

“They don’t deserve anything!” somebody said. “They’re cruel to the poor creature! Don’t give them anything!”

Buster made a complete circle of the double row of men, women and children, but not a penny was dropped in his cup. When he returned, finally, and handed the empty cup to his master he was greeted by an angry cuff. There was an angry growl from the people, and the men fearing trouble led Buster away, jerking him hard with the chain.

But that wasn’t the last of his punishment. That night when he got home Buster was sent to bed without even his crust of bread. The men were angry because he hadn’t collected many pennies for them, and like many other people in this world they laid all the blame of their failure upon another. Buster was the scape-goat.

In the middle of the night, Buster thought of the little girl who had given him the stick of candy, and groaning with pain and hunger he made up his mind to run away very soon and find the girl if he had to travel half around the world. She would at least be kind to him, and that was all he wanted. On the very morrow he would plan a way to get out of the hut and begin his search for the girl with brown eyes and dimples in her cheek.

Buster gets away in the next story, but he joined a circus instead of finding the little girl who had been kind to him.

STORY VII

BUSTER MAKES HIS ESCAPE

Buster had been growing rapidly all this time, and instead of being a little cub he was nearly as tall as his mother and as broad as a Newfoundland dog. A few months had made a tremendous difference in his size and strength.