MAGPIE’S NIGHT-BEAR

By W. C. Tuttle

I was readin’ th’ other day that down at th’ New York Zoo they have proved that old sayin’ that “Music hath charms to soothe th’ savage beasts.”

Shucks, I saw that proved in a sort of a way about eight years ago! Not bein’ able to whistle or sing while runnin’ at full speed, I’ve never tried it on any of th’ bears I’ve met on narrow trails, but they say it will soothe ’em—maybe!

Magpie Peters read books on hypnotism fer a while and then went out and tried it on a bob-cat. I was laid up in a hospital in Helena when they brought him in, and him and me got out together prospectin’. We dug holes in th’ ground from Nome to Mexico and as far east as Butte, and this little episode happened while we were huntin’ fer bed-rock on a little creek over in Western Montana.

This particular little creek didn’t have no name, until one day a Piegan Indian came along on his cayuse and stopped and watched us rastlin’ boulders. He looked on for a while, and then as he rode away he looked over his shoulder and remarked—

“Plenty stone—hell!”

We left th’ last part off and filed our location as bein’ on “Plenty Stone Creek.” We tacked th’ last part on often enough. We had a pretty fair cabin—never did know who built it—and real honest-to-grandma furniture. Th’ bed was made of iron, rods all bent and twisted sort of artistic like, and th’ chairs were sort of spindlin’ things with stuffed seats. One of them was a rockin’-chair, with most of th’ stuffin’ gone, and th’ other was a baby’s high-chair.

I reckon some high-toned fambly had summered in them hills, and done left their effects. But th’ dandy part of our outfit was th’ phonygraft!

Magpie wasn’t exactly a miser, and one day he gets his skin full uh joy-juice, and buys this talkin’-machine. In them days yuh has to pay money fer a thing like that, and I reckon this one sets Magpie back about fifteen ounces—that bein’ about two hundred and fifty in civilized money.

We was th’ envy of all th’ sourdoughs in them hills, and sometimes they would come for miles to hear it.

Our cabin was built with sort of a loft across th’ rear end. A cross-log, with poles laid across and connectin’ with th’ logs on th’ end, and we used it as a place to store our flour and beans and some extra stuff. Our cabin wasn’t any too roomy.

Me and Magpie tries sleepin’ on th’ bed fer quite a spell, but I has to quit it in order to git some sleep. Magpie was a good pardner and a plumb white person, but he shore had th’ most healthy snore I ever heard.

Th’ first time I ever heard it I gits up and blows in his face and dumps him out on th’ floor, thinkin’ he’s chokin’ to death. It cost me two teeth and a busted nose before I could explain. Uh feller shore can’t sleep with a person chokin’ to death in his ear, so I gits me some fir-boughs and bunks on th’ floor.

One night after a long session with th’ phonygraft, we leaves th’ machine on th’ floor in a corner and goes to bed. I been sleepin’ quite a spell when something wakes me up.

At first I thinks it must have been Magpie’s snorin’, but something makes me watch th’ door. It was moonlight and th’ cabin was light as day.

Pretty soon I sees th’ door move. It jist moves an inch at uh time, and by th’ time it’s moved six inches, I’m of th’ opinion that I’ll never be able to comb my hair agin. I was jist goin’ to say “Come in,” jist like that, when th’ door flew open and there stood th’ biggest bear I ever saw!

Holy mackinaw! I reckon he stood seven feet at th’ shoulder and was extra long fer his height! I’m not a person who is easily excited, and not overly active for my age, but if any one had seen me do that back-action hop to that loft, they would have sworn that I’d practised it all my life.

I spills around up there considerable—my hands and feet tryin’ to locate all th’ places where there ain’t no poles across. After while I gits organized and looks down at Mr. Bear, but he’s still in th’ door, lookin’ at me. I’d plumb forgot about Magpie, who was snorin’ loud and clear, until th’ bear saunters inside. I figgers that Magpie is better off asleep as long as th’ bear lets him alone, so I don’t say a word.

Th’ bear makes his first move by goin’ over and leanin’ up against our stove—which ain’t noways solid on its pins—with th’ result that said stove lays down and pulls th’ pipe along. Th’ bear gits soot in his nose, and while backin’ and sneezin’ across th’ room he knocks down our dry-goods-box cupboard. That makes him sort of nervous and he jumps up on th’ rockin’-chair sort of heavily, with th’ result that he gits a wallop from th’ back as it flies up.

Golly, that bear whimpers like a kid and shuffles over to look at Magpie. He seems sort of partial to Magpie’s snore and tries to git up on th’ bed. I’m kinda worryin’ about Magpie’s health about now, and starts lookin’ fer a weapon. All I could find was a fifty-pound sack of flour, so I takes aim with that and lets her fly.

Zowie! It hits th’ bear smack on th’ head and busts wide open. Th’ air is so full uh flour I can’t see what’s doin’, but I hear Magpie yell—

“Git yer darn big feet off my face, Ike!”

Then I sees th’ bear start to back off th’ bed, but his toe-nails git hung up in th’ blankets some way, and he tips th’ whole business over.

I’m worried about Magpie all this time, but I jist had to lay down and laugh. It shore was a mess. Th’ bear has got his head through th’ foot of th’ bed, and starts a promenade around th’ room, draggin’ Magpie, who’s twisted up in th’ blankets and bed so he can’t help himself a-tall. I sits in th’ game again by heavin’ a sack uh beans at th’ bear, but I hits Magpie on th’ head, causin’ him to cuss fluently.

Then they starts a marathon around th’ room and scratches up our furniture a-plenty. Th’ bear gits that high-chair around his neck on th’ second lap, and that swingin’ high, wide and handsome, knocks Magpie’s rifle off th’ wall, and it also joins th’ procession.

All this time, Magpie is cussin’ and pullin’ and tryin’ to git loose, but th’ bear don’t notice him a-tall, bein’ as he’s some busy too.

After makin’ a mulligan of everything that’s loose, th’ bear stops and paws th’ mixture loose from his carcass. He gits it all loose except th’ high-chair. He sits up and between pants he sizes Magpie up.

Pretty soon he licks his chops and growls and th’ hair on his neck begins to raise up, and I says to myself—

“Good night, Magpie!”

Jist then he backs up to git a runnin’ start at Magpie, but he don’t never make that start. There comes a queer scratchin’ noise and a bugle blows. Then a voice yells:

“’Tenshun! Right face! March!” and th’ drums goes, “Thrump—thrump—thrump, thrump, thrump!”

It’s that darn phonygraft. Th’ bear had done sat down on th’ dingus which starts it.

At th’ first notes of that bugle, th’ bear reaches down and picks up Magpie’s rifle, and stands up jist like a man, and when th’ order came to march, he wheels around and hikes right out of th’ cabin. I dang near fell out of th’ loft watchin’ him, and th’ last we saw of him he was still walkin’ down th’ hill into th’ timber, with that rifle over his shoulder and th’ high-chair around his neck and trailin’ along behind.

I helps Magpie loose, and we sits around considerable, talkin’ it over. Magpie argues that we’re both loco, and that it ain’t reasonable to suppose that any bear will come into a man’s home and mess things up thataway and walk off with a rifle over his shoulder.

He’s some scratched up and sore, and in jist th’ right mood to win his argument by fair means or foul, so I goes to sleep, leavin’ him alone to think it over.

In th’ mornin’ he ain’t in no better humor, and at breakfast he asks me what for I lays safe up in th’ loft and laughs and heaves sacks uh beans at his head, while he’s fightin’ to th’ death with an enormous grizzly?

I’m jist about to make a soft answer when th’ door opens and in comes Tellurium Woods. Tellurium is doin’ a piece of development work about two miles from us, and he’s been down to Granite after grub, and brings back th’ latest newspapers. Magpie takes one of them and goes back in th’ corner to read off his grouch, while me and Tellurium sit on th’ woodpile and swap lies.

Pretty soon Magpie comes out and hands me th’ paper and points to a certain place. It ain’t but a few lines, and reads something like this:

LOST—A trained black bear. Weighs about 300. Answers to the name of Gladys. Is trained in the manual of arms. Escaped from the express-car at Granite on July 15. Fair reward. Notify express company.

I starts to laugh, but Magpie puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me square in th’ eyes, and I—well, I asks Tellurium how’s th’ ground breakin’ fer him?

After Tellurium leaves, I goes in to wash th’ dishes. Magpie is sittin’ on th’ step, smokin’ his pipe, when I says—

“Magpie, we might gather in that fair reward, eh?”

“As mason to mason,” he replies, “I states that I don’t hanker fer Gladys none a-tall. That ol’ 30-30 was plumb full uh soft-nose ca’tridges, and as far as I knows that ‘manual of arms’ might mean sharp-shootin’!”

Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the March 1915 issue of Adventure magazine.

About This Book

This work is believed to be in the public domain in the United States. Copyright status in other countries may vary; readers outside the US should verify the status in their own jurisdiction.

Originally published by The Ridgway Company in Adventure Magazine, March, 1915

Prepared by volunteers at BookCove (bookcove.net).