Johnny Bear by E. T. Seton
E >>
E. T. Seton >> Johnny Bear
[Illustration]
V.
It is quite a common thing for Bears to spank their cubs when they need
it, and if Grumpy had disciplined Johnny this way, it would have saved
them both a deal of worry. Perhaps not a day passed, that summer,
without Grumpy getting into trouble on Johnny's account. But of all
these numerous occasions the most ignominious was shortly after the
affair with the Grizzly.
I first heard the story from three bronzed mountaineers. As they were
very sensitive about having their word doubted, and very good shots
with the revolver, I believed every word they told me, especially when
afterward fully endorsed by the Park authorities.
It seemed that of all the tinned goods on the pile the nearest to
Johnny's taste were marked with a large purple plum. This conclusion he
had arrived at only after most exhaustive study. The very odour of those
plums in Johnny's nostrils was the equivalent of ecstasy. So when it
came about one day that the cook of the Hotel baked a huge batch of
plum-tarts, the tell-tale wind took the story afar into the woods, where
it was wafted by way of Johnny's nostrils to his very soul.
[Illustration]
Of course Johnny was whimpering at the time. His mother was busy
"washing his face and combing his hair," so he had double cause for
whimpering. But the smell of the tarts thrilled him; he jumped up, and
when his mother tried to hold him he squalled, and I am afraid--he
bit her. She should have cuffed him, but she did not. She only gave a
disapproving growl, and followed to see that he came to no harm.
[Illustration]
With his little black nose in the wind, Johnny led straight for the
kitchen. He took the precaution, however, of climbing from time to time
to the very top of a pine-tree look-out to take an observation, while
Grumpy stayed below.
Thus they came close to the kitchen, and there, in the last tree,
Johnny's courage as a leader gave out, so he remained aloft and
expressed his hankering for tarts in a woebegone wail.
It is not likely that Grumpy knew exactly what her son was crying for.
But it is sure that as soon as she showed an inclination to go back into
the pines, Johnny protested in such an outrageous and heart-rending
screeching that his mother simply could not leave him, and he showed no
sign of coming down to be led away.
Grumpy herself was fond of plum-jam. The odour was now, of course, very
strong and proportionately alluring; so Grumpy followed it somewhat
cautiously up to the kitchen door.
There was nothing surprising about this. The rule of "live and let live"
is so strictly enforced in the Park that the Bears often come to the
kitchen door for pickings, and on getting something, they go quietly
back to the woods. Doubtless Johnny and Grumpy would each have gotten
their tart but that a new factor appeared in the case.
[Illustration]
That week the Hotel people had brought a new cat from the East. She was
not much more than a kitten, but still had a litter of her own, and at
the moment that Grumpy reached the door, the Cat and her family were
sunning themselves on the top step. Pussy opened her eyes to see this
huge, shaggy monster towering above her.
The Cat had never before seen a Bear--she had not been there long
enough; she did not know even what a Bear was. She knew what a Dog was,
and here was a bigger, more awful bob-tailed black dog than ever she had
dreamed of coming right at her. Her first thought was to fly for her
life. But her next was for the kittens. She must take care of them. She
must at least cover their retreat. So like a brave little mother, she
braced herself on that door-step, and spreading her back, her claws, her
tail, and everything she had to spread, she screamed out at that Bear an
unmistakable order to
STOP!
[Illustration]
The language must have been "Cat," but the meaning was clear to the
Bear; for those who saw it maintain stoutly that Grumpy not only
stopped, but she also conformed to the custom of the country and in
token of surrender held up her hands.
However, the position she thus took made her so high that the Cat seemed
tiny in the distance below. Old Grumpy had faced a Grizzly once, and was
she now to be held up by a miserable little spike-tailed skunk no bigger
than a mouthful? She was ashamed of herself, especially when a wail from
Johnny smote on her ear and reminded her of her plain duty, as well as
supplied his usual moral support.
So she dropped down on her front feet to proceed.
Again the Cat shrieked, "STOP!" But Grumpy ignored the command. A scared
mew from a kitten nerved the Cat, and she launched her ultimatum, which
ultimatum was herself. Eighteen sharp claws, a mouthful of keen teeth,
had Pussy, and she worked them all with a desperate will when she landed
on Grumpy's bare, bald, sensitive nose, just the spot of all where the
Bear cold not stand it, and then worked backward to a point outside the
sweep of Grumpy's claws. After one or two vain attempts to shake the
spotted fury off, old Grumpy did just as most creatures would have done
under the circumstances: she turned tail and bolted out of the enemy's
country into her own woods.
But Puss's fighting blood was up. She was not content with repelling the
enemy; she wanted to inflict a crushing defeat, to achieve an absolute
and final rout. And however fast old Grumpy might go, it did not count,
for the Cat was still on top, working her teeth and claws like a little
demon. Grumpy, always erratic, now became panic-stricken. The trail of
the pair was flecked with tufts of long black hair, and there was even
bloodshed (in the fiftieth degree). Honour surely was satisfied, but
Pussy was not. Round and round they had gone in the mad race. Grumpy was
frantic, absolutely humiliated, and ready to make any terms; but Pussy
seemed deaf to her cough-like yelps, and no one knows how far the Cat
might have ridden that day had not Johnny unwittingly put a new idea
into his mother's head by bawling in his best style from the top of his
last tree, which tree Grumpy made for and scrambled up.
[Illustration]
This was so clearly the enemy's country and in view of his
reinforcements that the Cat wisely decided to follow no farther.
She jumped from the climbing Bear to the ground, and then mounted
sentry-guard below, marching around with tail in the air, daring that
Bear to come down. Then the kittens came out and sat around, and enjoyed
it all hugely. And the mountaineers assured me that the Bears would have
been kept up the tree till they were starved, had not the cook of the
Hotel come out and called off his Cat--although this statement was not
among those vouched for by the officers of the Park.
VI.
The last time I saw Johnny he was in the top of a tree, bewailing his
unhappy lot as usual, while his mother was dashing about among the
pines, "with a chip on her shoulder," seeking for someone--anyone--that
she could punish for Johnny's sake, provided, of course, that it was not
a big Grizzly or a Mother Cat.
This was early in August, but there were not lacking symptoms of change
in old Grumpy. She was always reckoned "onsartin," and her devotion to
Johnny seemed subject to her characteristic. This perhaps accounted for
the fact that when the end of the month was near, Johnny would sometimes
spend half a day in the top of some tree, alone, miserable, and utterly
unheeded.
The last chapter of his history came to pass after I had left the
region. One day at grey dawn he was tagging along behind his mother
as she prowled in the rear of the Hotel. A newly hired Irish girl was
already astir in the kitchen. On looking out, she saw, as she thought, a
Calf where it should not be, and ran to shoo it away. That open kitchen
door still held unmeasured terrors for Grumpy, and she ran in such alarm
that Johnny caught the infection, and not being able to keep up with
her, he made for the nearest tree, which unfortunately turned out to be
a post, and soon--too soon--he arrived at its top, some seven feet from
the ground, and there poured forth his woes on the chilly morning air,
while Grumpy apparently felt justified in continuing her flight alone.
When the girl came near and saw that she had treed some wild animal, she
was as much frightened as her victim. But others of the kitchen staff
appeared, and recognizing the vociferous Johnny, they decided to make
him a prisoner.
[Illustration]
A collar and chain were brought, and after a struggle, during which
several of the men got well scratched, the collar was buckled on
Johnny's neck and the chain made fast to the post.
When he found that he was held, Johnny was simply too mad to scream. He
bit and scratched and tore till he was tired out. Then he lifted up his
voice again to call his mother. She did appear once or twice in
the distance, but could not make up her mind to face that Cat, so
disappeared, and Johnny was left to his fate.
[Illustration]
He put in the most of that day in alternate struggling and crying.
Toward evening he was worn out, and glad to accept the meal that was
brought by Norah, who felt herself called on to play mother, since she
had chased his own mother away.
When night came it was very cold; but Johnny nearly froze at the top of
the post before he would come down and accept the warm bed provided at
the bottom.
During the days that followed, Grumpy came often to the garbage-heap,
but soon apparently succeeded in forgetting all about her son. He was
daily tended by Norah, and received all his meals from her. He also
received something else; for one day he scratched her when she brought
his food, and she very properly spanked him till he squealed. For a few
hours he sulked; he was not used to such treatment. But hunger subdued
him, and thenceforth he held his new guardian in wholesome respect. She,
too, began to take an interest in the poor motherless little wretch, and
within a fortnight Johnny showed signs of developing a new character. He
was much less noisy. He still expressed his hunger in a whining _Er-r-r
Er-r-r Er-r-r,_ but he rarely squealed now, and his unruly outbursts
entirely ceased.
[Illustration]
By the third week of September the change was still more marked. Utterly
abandoned by his own mother, all his interest had centred in Norah, and
she had fed and spanked him into an exceedingly well-behaved little
Bear. Sometimes she would allow him a taste of freedom, and he then
showed his bias by making, not for the woods, but for the kitchen where
she was, and following her around on his hind legs. Here also he made
the acquaintance of that dreadful Cat; but Johnny had a powerful
friend now, and Pussy finally became reconciled to the black, woolly
interloper.
As the Hotel was to be closed in October, there was talk of turning
Johnny loose or of sending him to the Washington Zoo; but Norah had
claims that she would not forgo.
When the frosty nights of late September came, Johnny had greatly
improved in his manners, but he had also developed a bad cough. An
examination of his lame leg had shown that the weakness was not in the
foot, but much more deeply seated, perhaps in the hip, and that meant a
feeble and tottering constitution.
He did not get fat, as do most Bears in fall; indeed, he continued to
fail. His little round belly shrank in, his cough became worse, and one
morning he was found very sick and shivering in his bed by the post.
Norah brought him indoors, where the warmth helped him so much that
henceforth he lived in the kitchen.
For a few days he seemed better, and his old-time pleasure in _seeing
things_ revived. The great blazing fire in the range particularly
appealed to him, and made him sit up in his old attitude when the
opening of the door brought the wonder to view. After a week he lost
interest even in that, and drooped more and more each day. Finally not
the most exciting noises or scenes around him could stir up his old
fondness for seeing what was going on.
[Illustration]
He coughed a good deal, too, and seemed wretched, except when in Norah's
lap. Here he would cuddle up contentedly, and whine most miserably when
she had to set him down again in his basket.
A few days before the closing of the Hotel, he refused his usual
breakfast, and whined softly till Norah took him in her lap; then he
feebly snuggled up to her, and his soft _Er-r-r Er-r-r_ grew fainter,
till it ceased. Half an hour later, when she laid him down to go about
her work, Little Johnny had lost the last trace of his anxiety to see
and know what was going on.
[Illustration]
TITO THE STORY OF THE COYOTE THAT LEARNED HOW
I
Raindrop may deflect a thunderbolt, or a hair may ruin an empire, as
surely as a spider-web once turned the history of Scotland; and if it
had not been for one little pebble, this history of Tito might never
have happened.
That pebble was lying on a trail in the Dakota Badlands, and one hot,
dark night it lodged in the foot of a Horse that was ridden by a tipsy
cow-boy. The man got off, as a matter of habit, to know what was laming
his Horse. But he left the reins on its neck instead of on the ground,
and the Horse, taking advantage of this technicality, ran off in the
darkness. Then the cow-boy, realizing that he was afoot, lay down in
a hollow under some buffalo-bushes and slept the loggish sleep of the
befuddled.
The golden beams of the early summer sun were leaping from top to top of
the wonderful Badland Buttes, when an old Coyote might have been seen
trotting homeward along the Garner's Creek Trail with a Rabbit in her
jaws to supply her family's breakfast.
[Illustration]
Fierce war had for a long time been waged against the Coyote kind by
the cattlemen of Billings County. Traps, guns, poison, and Hounds had
reduced their number nearly to zero, and the few survivors had learned
the bitter need of caution at every step. But the destructive ingenuity
of man knew no bounds, and their numbers continued to dwindle.
[Illustration]
The old Coyote quit the trail very soon, for nothing that man has made
is friendly. She skirted along a low ridge, then across a little hollow
where grew a few buffalo-bushes, and, after a careful sniff at a very
stale human trail-scent, she crossed another near ridge on whose sunny
side was the home of her brood. Again she cautiously circled, peered
about, and sniffed, but, finding no sign of danger, went down to
the doorway and uttered a low _woof-woof._ Out of the den, beside a
sage-bush, there poured a procession of little Coyotes, merrily tumbling
over one another. Then, barking little barks and growling little puppy
growls, they fell upon the feast that their mother had brought, and
gobbled and tussled while she looked on and enjoyed their joy.
Wolver Jake, the cow-boy, had awakened from his chilly sleep about
sunrise, in time to catch a glimpse of the Coyote passing over the
ridge. As soon as she was out of sight he got on his feet and went
to the edge, there to witness the interesting scene of the family
breakfasting and frisking about within a few yards of him, utterly
unconscious of any danger.
But the only appeal the scene had to him lay in the fact that the county
had set a price on every one of these Coyotes' lives. So he got out
his big .45 navy revolver, and notwithstanding his shaky condition, he
managed somehow to get a sight on the mother as she was caressing one of
the little ones that had finished its breakfast, and shot her dead on
the spot.
The terrified cubs fled into the den, and Jake, failing to kill another
with his revolver, came forward, blocked up the hole with stones,
and leaving the seven little prisoners quaking at the far end, set off
on foot for the nearest ranch, cursing his faithless Horse as he went.
In the afternoon he returned with his pard and tools for digging. The
little ones had cowered all day in the darkened hole, wondering why
their mother did not come to feed them, wondering at the darkness and
the change. But late that day they heard sounds at the door. Then light
was again let in. Some of the less cautious young ones ran forward to
meet their mother, but their mother was not there--only two great rough
brutes that began tearing open their home.
[Illustration]
After an hour or more the diggers came to the end of the den, and here
were the woolly, bright-eyed, little ones, all huddled in a pile at the
farthest corner. Their innocent puppy faces and ways were not noticed
by the huge enemy. One by one they were seized. A sharp blow, and each
quivering, limp form was thrown into a sack to be carried to the nearest
magistrate who was empowered to pay the bounties.
Even at this stage there was a certain individuality of character among
the puppies. Some of them squealed and some of them growled when dragged
out to die. One or two tried to bite. The one that had been slowest to
comprehend the danger, had been the last to retreat, and so was on top
of the pile, and therefore the first killed. The one that had first
realized the peril had retreated first, and now crouched at the bottom
of the pile. Coolly and remorselessly the others were killed one by
one, and then this prudent little puppy was seen to be the last of the
family. It lay perfectly still, even when touched, its eyes being half
closed, as, guided by instinct, it tried to "play possum." One of the
men picked it up. It neither squealed nor resisted. Then Jake, realizing
ever the importance of "standing in with the boss," said: "Say, let's
keep that 'un for the children." So the last of the family was thrown
alive into the same bag with its dead brothers, and, bruised and
frightened, lay there very still, understanding nothing, knowing only
that after a long time of great noise and cruel jolting it was again
half strangled by a grip on its neck and dragged out, where were a lot
of creatures like the diggers.
These were really the inhabitants of the Chimneypot Ranch, whose brand
is the Broad-arrow; and among them were the children for whom the cub
had been brought. The boss had no difficulty in getting Jake to accept
the dollar that the cub Coyote would have brought in bounty-money,
and his present was turned over to the children. In answer to their
question, "What is it?" a Mexican cow-hand, present said it was a
Coyotito--that is, a "little Coyote,"--and this, afterward shortened to
"Tito," became the captive's name.
[Illustration]
II
Tito was a pretty little creature, with woolly body, a puppy-like
expression, and a head that was singularly broad between the ears.
But, as a children's pet, she--for it proved to be a female--was not a
success. She was distant and distrustful. She ate her food and seemed
healthy, but never responded to friendly advances; never [Illustration:
Coyotito, the Captive] even learned to come out of the box when called.
This probably was due to the fact that the kindness of the small
children was offset by the roughness of the men and boys, who did not
hesitate to drag her out by the chain when they wished to see her. On
these occasions she would suffer in silence, playing possum, shamming
dead, for she seemed to know that that was the best thing to do. But as
soon as released she would once more retire into the darkest corner of
her box, and watch her tormentors with eyes that, at the proper angle,
showed a telling glint of green.
[Illustration]
Among the children of the ranchmen was a thirteen-year-old boy.
The fact that he grew up to be like his father, a kind, strong, and
thoughtful man, did not prevent him being, at this age, a shameless
little brute.
Like all boys in that country, he practised lasso-throwing, with a view
to being a cow-boy. Posts and stumps are uninteresting things to catch.
His little brothers and sisters were under special protection of the
Home Government. The Dogs ran far away whenever they saw him coming with
the rope in his hands. So he must needs practise on the unfortunate
Coyotito. She soon learned that her only hope for peace was to hide in
the kennel, or, if thrown at when outside, to dodge the rope by lying as
flat as possible on the ground. Thus Lincoln unwittingly taught the
Coyote the dangers and limitations of a rope, and so he proved a
blessing in disguise--a very perfect disguise. When the Coyote had
thoroughly learned how to baffle the lasso, the boy terror devised a new
amusement. He got a large trap of the kind known as "Fox-size." This he
set in the dust as he had seen Jake set a Wolf-trap, close to the
kennel, and over it he scattered scraps of meat, in the most approved
style for Wolf-trapping. After a while Tito, drawn by the smell of the
meat, came hungrily sneaking out toward it, and almost immediately was
caught in the trap by one foot. The boy terror was watching from a near
hiding-place. He gave a wild Indian whoop of delight, then rushed
forward to drag the Coyote out of the box into which she had retreated.
After some more delightful thrills of excitement and struggle he got his
lasso on Tito's body, and, helped by a younger brother, a most promising
pupil, he succeeded in setting the Coyote free from the trap before the
grown-ups had discovered his amusement. One or two experiences like this
taught her a mortal terror of traps. She soon learned the smell of the
steel, and could detect and avoid it, no matter how cleverly Master
Lincoln might bury it in the dust while the younger brother screened the
operation from the intended victim by holding his coat over the door of
Tito's kennel.
[Illustration]
One day the fastening of her chain gave way, and Tito went off in an
uncertain fashion, trailing her chain behind her. But she was seen by
one of the men, who fired a charge of bird-shot at her. The burning,
stinging, and surprise of it all caused her to retreat to the one place
she knew, her own kennel. The chain was fastened again, and Tito added
to her ideas this, a horror of guns and the smell of gunpowder; and this
also, that the one safety from them is to "lay low."
[Illustration]
There were yet other rude experiences in store for the captive.
Poisoning Wolves was a topic of daily talk at the Ranch, so it was not
surprising that Lincoln should privately experiment on Coyotito. The
deadly strychnine was too well guarded to be available. So Lincoln hid
some Rough on Rats in a piece of meat, threw it to the captive, and
sat by to watch, as blithe and conscience-clear as any professor of
chemistry trying a new combination.
Tito smelled the meat--everything had to be passed on by her nose.
Her nose was in doubt. There was a good smell of meat, a familiar but
unpleasant smell of human hands, and a strange new odour, but not the
odour of the trap; so she bolted the morsel. Within a few minutes began
to have fearful pains in stomach, followed by cramps. Now in all the
Wolf tribe there is the instinctive habit to throw up anything that
disagrees with them, and after a minute or two of suffering the Coyote
sought relief in this way; and to make it doubly sure she hastily
gobbled some blades of grass, and in less than an hour was quite well
again.
[Illustration]
Lincoln had put in poison enough for a dozen Coyotes. Had he put in less
she could not have felt the pang till too late, but she recovered and
never forgot that peculiar smell that means such awful after-pains. More
than that, she was ready thenceforth to fly at once to the herbal cure
that Nature had everywhere provided. An instinct of this kind grows
quickly, once followed. It had taken minutes of suffering in the first
place to drive her to the easement. Thenceforth, having learned, it
was her first thought on feeling pain. The little miscreant did indeed
succeed in having her swallow another bait with a small dose of poison,
but she knew what to do now and had almost no suffering.
Later on, a relative sent Lincoln a Bull-terrier, and the new
combination was a fresh source of spectacular interest for the boy, and
of tribulation for the Coyote. It all emphasized for her that old idea
to "lay low"--that is, to be quiet, unobtrusive, and hide when danger
is in sight. The grown-ups of the household at length forbade these
persecutions, and the Terrier was kept away from the little yard where
the Coyote was chained up.
[Illustration]
It must not be supposed that, in all this, Tito was a sweet, innocent
victim. She had learned to bite. She had caught and killed several
chickens by shamming sleep while they ventured to forage within the
radius of her chain. And she had an inborn hankering to sing a morning
and evening hymn, which procured for her many beatings. But she learned
to shut up, the moment her opening notes were followed by a rattle of
doors or windows, for these sounds of human nearness had frequently been
followed by a "_bang_" and a charge of bird-shot, which somehow did no
serious harm, though it severely stung her hide. And these experiences
all helped to deepen her terror of guns and of those who used them. The
object of these musical outpourings was not clear. They happened usually
at dawn or dusk, but sometimes a loud noise at high noon would set her
going. The song consisted of a volley of short barks, mixed with doleful
squalls that never failed to set the Dogs astir in a responsive uproar,
and once or twice had begotten a far-away answer from some wild Coyote
in the hills.