in the meanwhile, what had warde been doing?
after he was left alone in camp, he dutifully tidied up the place, bathed his aching ankle and wrote home as he planned. the writing took a long time as he was slow and had so much to tell. warde did not enjoy writing letters and when he had finished he felt as cramped and tired as if he had chopped a cord of firewood. the sharp mountain air helped make him sleepy and when he stretched out on the grass to rest for “just a minute,” sleep overcame him and he took a nap like a baby. when he waked he did not need the short shadows of the noon sun directly overhead to tell him it was lunch time. disappointed that his pals had not returned he rummaged about for a snack of bread and bacon for himself. he began to long for companionship, but did not dare to wander off far from camp for fear the boys would return and he would miss them and any fun on foot. so warde stayed in camp until he fidgeted alone and decided to use his time to good advantage by collecting firewood. this he did so industriously that soon he had a fine pile. on coming back to it with another armful of sticks warde saw something moving by one tent. mr. wilde and billy shared one tent, the boys another, while the camera and camp supplies were stored in a third. something was moving near the tent where the provisions were kept.
overjoyed, after his long solitude at seeing what he supposed of course was ed or westy, warde shouted. at the sound of his voice the intruder started and reared up. it was an enormous grizzly bear!
you may imagine that warde stopped stock-still, unable to move hand or foot. he seemed turned to stone and did not even drop his sticks.
the grizzly stood on his hind legs, solemnly regarding him and he did not move either. it would have been worth billy’s while to have been behind a bush then with his camera, for the picture of boy and bear each standing staring at one another would have been another thriller to his credit.
the grizzly was taller than a tall man as he stood there, his forepaws bent as if contemplating one vast and soft embrace.
warde’s instinct to heave one of his sticks at the animal he checked as foolhardy, for such an attack would be sure to enrage the brute. warde softly stepped backward. the bear stepped forward. warde ventured another backstep, the bear dropped to all fours with a windy “snoof” and advanced toward him.
at this point warde thought wildly of climbing a tree. but he could not remember whether grizzly bears climb trees or not. at any rate, the idea of scrambling up a tree trunk with the bear clawing at his back did not appeal at this time to our hero. he wished more than ever that his fellow scouts would appear. then the remembrance of westy’s accusation that they were only “parlor scouts” stung him and he resolved to act in a manner worthy a real scout. just what this would be was the puzzle. warde had seen grizzlies in the zoo, of course, but he missed the trusty iron bars from the landscape now. thought of the zoo recalled the fact that at feeding time the keepers threw loaves of bread to them. if he could only circle about and reach the provisions perhaps the bear would eat bread or something instead of boy. do grizzlies eat boys or do they not? the answer to this was as vague in warde’s mind as the answer to, do they climb trees? at any rate he remembered that they hugged their victims to death, crushing them in that fur and iron embrace. nothing appealed less to warde at this moment than any such show of affection! he tried to ease around behind the woodpile and the bear began to follow him. “at any rate,” thought warde, “while the old boy keeps down on all fours he can’t hug me.” he moved cautiously and the bear advanced threateningly. warde felt the natural impulse to turn and run, but the idea of the bear galloping behind halted this. to keep running, pursued by a bear, was too much like a bad dream in which the bear comes even closer and you can’t move your feet. warde decided it was less harrowing to stand his ground and face the brute. at any rate the bear had not emitted any blood-curdling “feeding-time-at-the-zoo” growls. he only gave a few “snoofs” not unlike a pet dog. warde maneuvered about keeping tent or woodpile cautiously between himself and his visitor and the bear lumbered after him. in this way warde finally reached the provisions and finding a pan of billy’s biscuits still on hand, he tossed one at the bear. it snapped this up eagerly and lunged forward. stepping backward inhospitably, warde threw another biscuit and threw it good and far. the bear turned and trotted after it. by throwing the biscuits one at a time with all the snap of a big league pitcher, warde succeeded in keeping the great animal at a comfortable distance. it reminded him of those stories of russia when the sleigh is pursued by wolves and one by one the riders jump overboard as sacrifice to delay the pack so that the sole surviving heroine may escape. warde hated to think what he would do when all the biscuits were gone.
he felt sure he could not continue to throw every piece of food they had to the bear. finally the last remaining biscuit went, and, impatient for more, the bear came forward at a brisk and clumsy trot. warde felt it was just as well to side step. the big creature thrust himself into the tent and tumbled everything about, now stopping to snap up a tidbit, now investigating and upsetting boxes with his nose. at last he came to billy’s camera supplies. here in tin boxes were spare films and if anything destroyed these, the expedition was spoiled. at this point warde asserted himself. to tell the truth he had rather envied the glory westy acquired in his encounter with bloodhound pete. the bear did not seem too ferocious and warde felt that here was a chance for him to outwit the animal and win for himself perhaps a modicum of fame. he tried to think what he had ever heard about bears, and to save his life could only recall the adventure of the absurd goldilocks and the repeated, “who has been sleeping in my bed?” said the middle-sized bear in his middle-sized voice. you will admit that goldilocks was not a great help to a scout facing a rocky mountain grizzly! why is it the most foolish thoughts occur to you in moments of stress? warde felt very annoyed that people filled up children’s minds on that silly stuff instead of teaching them useful things like how to drive away live bears that are licking your biscuit pan. warde couldn’t seem to think up anything to stop the bear’s dishwashing, and like a good many other people when baffled he blamed it on his education. “gosh,” he thought indignantly, “when i have a boy i won’t waste his time on nursery rimes; i’ll bring him up to things that amount to something in a pinch!”
it was when the bear nosed at the camera boxes again that warde was spurred to action. he felt that the day would be lost if he did not protect those precious films for which they were undertaking this whole trip. pressed with need to act, warde suddenly was blessed with an idea. he remembered the adage that no animal can look you in the eye. he ventured therefore to advance and glare unblinkingly straight into the bear’s eyes. the bear snarled and shook his head. instead of backing away, however, to warde’s dismay he came straight at him with a “snoofy” challenge. through warde’s mind had been running a hodgepodge of all the wild animal stories he had ever read and now there flashed to his mind one from an old volume of st. nicholas. in this tale an east indian boy saves a white baby from a tiger by blowing tunes on a piccolo. it seemed animals do not like music any better than your cat does. now it just happened that billy was one of those chaps who always blew tunes on a harmonica. he had driven them crazy with this all the way up, and his harmonica was at that moment in his coat pocket and the coat hung on a tree where he had left it for a strenuous day in shirtsleeves. warde felt a thrill of pride at the ingenious idea. he succeeded in reaching the coat pocket, extracted the mouth organ and began to play. there was only one tune he knew how to play and that was “home, sweet home.” as the seedy notes of this familiar song piped up on the forest air, the bear acted very strangely. perhaps you think he, like the tiger, fled obligingly. oh, no! perhaps a grizzly likes a mouth harp as much as a tiger dislikes a piccolo. perhaps the tiger would have liked the mouth harp and perchance the bear would have fled before a piccolo. there is no telling. but the truth of the matter is that the grizzly actually enjoyed “home, sweet home.” instead of turning tail—what little tail he had! and leaving—he simply rose to his full height on his great haunches and swayed in waltz time. he even seemed to grin.
a suspicion now dawned on warde that this chummy bear was no wild beast, but one of the amiable tame bears of yellowstone park, straying through the wilderness in which he knew well enough, no doubt, he was protected by benign game laws.
a vast relief loosened the nervous tightness in his chest. immediately after this relief, however, warde felt a sort of disappointment that he was done out of an opportunity to play the hero. “at any rate,” he comforted himself, “i’m glad i found it out myself before any of the others got the laugh on me.” at this moment, however, an opportunity to assert himself did arise, for the bear, still hungry, insisted on nosing in among the supplies again and threatened to upset and ruin the films. it was at this point that warde got his first really useful inspiration. he suddenly remembered that it was fire that frightened animals away. he lost no time in kindling a dry pine branch which flared up fiercely. this he waved at the bear and the bear backed away. a little thrill of triumph tingled up warde’s spine. he was not altogether made a clown of now, and in protecting those films as well as the grub even from a friendly bear he was proving himself a valuable camp guard. he waved his torch and the bear with a snort of disgust, wheeled away. it must not be supposed that he disappeared altogether, not he. he sat down at a distance and licked out his pink tongue. he was not longing to crunch warde’s bones, he only pined, pathetically, for biscuits. from time to time he ventured nearer. between the bear and the films warde stood guard with his torch and he realized that danger from any carelessness with the fire might prove more disastrous to the inflammable celluloids than the bear’s mischief.
evening was now approaching and surely, warde thought, some of the campers would return! where were those fish mr. wilde had demanded? warde began to fear some accident had happened. he decided, as it grew later, that the best thing he could do was to get the camp ready in case something had happened to one of his friends. always thoroughly practical, he made up all the bunks comfortably for the night, pausing to wave a firebrand at his friend the bear from time to time as a warning to keep his distance. he built a roaring fire to keep off other animals, to keep up his own spirits and to act as a signal to his friends if they were lost. he heated plenty of hot water to have on hand in case of an emergency, and finally he prepared flapjacks for supper. no one came to help eat them and finally he began to cook some for himself. this appetizing smell lured the bear back into the circle of firelight, and so tantalized was he and so curious that he half lost his fear of flames and stood not far off wrinkling up his nose. this was a little too much for warde. it had become really dark now, and with no sign or sound of his comrades he began to be alarmed lest some serious accident prevented their return. he had been alone all day long and this loneliness at night in the woods began to tell on him. he welcomed even the presence of this bear now. recalling the fact that bears have such a sweet tooth that they risk getting stung while clawing for honey in a bee tree, he threw a flapjack dripping with syrup at his old friend. the bear delightedly gulped it down. this amused warde and diverted him from his worries. he tossed another. the bear was charmed. each had lost all fear of the other now. bear and boy had supper together. this strangely comforted the lonely, worried warde. it was as if when in trouble your pet airedale nosed up with sympathy. well fed, the bear waddled out of range of the fire, stretched out and napped. warde, stoking his fire from time to time, determined to sit up all night if need be, and stick to his post to be ready when needed. but any boy who deliberately says, “now i am going to sit up all night,” soon finds his eyelids weighted. warde fought off sleep valiantly. but as though a chloroform sponge were pressed on his nose, he succumbed and slumbered. opposite him, a little away from the fire, the big grizzly lay snoozing too. from time to time he snored.
it was late moonshine when warde was startled to wakefulness by the sound of voices and footsteps. mr. wilde, billy and westy had returned, having waited until the moon made possible an exit from the ravine by a longer, but safer, route than the cliff. their battered aspect showed how welcome the hot sponge off from warde’s kettle of water would prove.
“good boy to keep up the fire,” approved mr. wilde. “we never would have found this joint at night without that light. jumping jehoshaphat—what is that?”
that was the grizzly bear, disturbed and disgruntled by so many noisy newcomers. he lumbered away into the woods and never was seen again. needless to say, warde from that day to this has always been nicknamed “old grizzly.”
“what’s that?” echoed warde airily, “why, that’s just my chum, old featherbed. ain’t we cozy?”
“what’s the idea?” asked the startled billy. when warde explained that, though amiable, the bear’s curiosity made him too nosy among the films, bill stuck out his hand.
“put it there, pard!” he cried. “you saved the whole party. without my films this trip is nothing. mr. wilde, you got to hand it to these boys. while one stars in a screen triumph of daredevil dick the other rescues the spare celluloids from all the wild animals in the ark. you better take them into the firm.”
“i guess i’ll have to,” agreed mr. wilde. “by the way, where’s that other member of the firm—ed?”
