Read Ebook: Bearly Reasonable by Tuttle W C Wilbur C

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Ebook has 270 lines and 12806 words, and 6 pages

"My Gawd," sez he. "This is th' limit, hammered to uh sharp point. What'll we do with 'em, Ike?"

"She is not, and yuh might call me by my right name. Th' perfessor sez that he was informed by Mister Henderson that Mister Harper is th' best culinary artist in th' State. Uh culinary artist is uh polite name fer uh bull cook, Ike."

"Th' doctor can't do nothin', Ike. He informs me that th' one ambition in life is to hit somethin' with his shotgun. Sez he never had and never expects to, but he's game to keep on tryin'."

Pretty soon th' doc comes down from th' cabin, and sets down on one of th' packs. He dusts th' end of uh cigaret on his hand, and grins at me and Magpie.

"Some outfit, eh?" he sez. "What do yuh think of it?"

"Well," sez Magpie, "I knowed uh feller oncet what got hung fer sayin' what he thought, so with this one short remark I'll close--awful!"

"Exactly," agrees th' doc, explodin' uh cloud uh smoke that would asphyxiate uh gila monster. "I quite agrees with you. You see th' professor has a lot more money than any ordinary professor ought to have and if he wishes to spend it on a proposition like this it's none of our funeral."

"Th' first part of yore oration sounds sensible," sez Magpie, "but th' last line ain't exactly true. Knowin' th' natcheral disposition of uh fe-male grizzly, I'd say that it might be our funeral. Jist because we're merely accessories to th' fact don't affect th' gray matter in th' skull of uh she-grizzly.

"All men looks alike to her. Mebby she'd shy at th' perfessor, but I'm bettin' that uh rear view of th' ol' boy goin' up uh tree or doin' th' vanishin' act over uh hill might fool uh mad grizzly into thinkin' she was chasin' uh real, honest-to-grandma man. Uh course she'd find out her mistake, but by that time it's too late to rectify it. No self-respectin' rattler'd bite him, either, but yuh got to figger that nobody ever met uh self-respectin' rattler. No, sir, I reckon we got to close-herd th' perfessor."

"I'd be there with my shotgun," grins th' doc. "Mebby I could hit uh bear with it. That would be some satisfaction."

I cooked supper that night. One thing in my favor was th' fact that th' perfessor's wife is too hungry and tired to make any suggestions. I ain't no dog-gone French cook, but I shore hates to have uh fe-male person tell me how to cook beans. We worries through supper without no casualties, and after we gits through, Mrs. Per-fessor goes to bed on my bunk, and th' rest of us sets out in front of th' cabin and smokes uh while.

"My man," sez th' perfessor to Magpie, "it is my desire to investigate the grizzly theory tomorrow morning. I suppose you are prepared to guide me to the lair of a fairly good specimen?"

"Shore," sez Magpie. "Uh course I'll have to look over my field notes uh while before I can locate edzactly th' specimen yuh needs. Uh course yuh wants uh grizzly with uh grizzly offspring."

"Yeaus," drawls th' ol' pelican. "Yeaus, certainly. Quite naturally a grizzly would have a grizzly offspring."

"Natcherally," agrees Magpie. "But yuh often finds 'em with black or brown cubs. Yuh see, Perfessor, uh she-grizzly is uh motherly ol' thing, and when she finds uh female black or brown bear which don't treat their li'l ones properly she jist natcherally adopts 'em."

"Quite commendable," nods th' perfessor. "I must make a note of it. Such information is quite valuable. But don't the other bears object to losing the custody of their offsprings?"

"Quite useless," drawls Magpie. "As I remarked before, uh grizzly won't argue."

"I have a feeling that this trip is going to furnish some material for the scientists to ponder over," laughs th' doc, gittin' up and throwin' away his camel-hair cigaret. "I must see that my shotgun is in good working order."

"Did yuh ever shoot any fool-hens?" I asks.

Th' doc grins at me in uh wise sort of uh way and replies:

"Mister Harper, I may be a poor shot, but I'm not that much of a tenderfoot, so don't try that old joke on me, please."

Most of 'em won't bite on th' fool-hen stunt, fer th' simple reason that there ain't no joke about fool-hens. Now, if yuh spoke about snow-snakes they'd stay all Winter to git uh specimen.

It wa'n't edzactly what you'd call chivalry that prompts us to give up our cabin to our employers that night. When uh two hundred and fifty pound fe-male occupies yore three by six bunk, and fills th' air with snores which resembles th' grunts of uh hungry bear trying to coax uh fat grub out of uh rotten stump, it's jist human nature to grab uh blanket and move out in th' brush. Th' doc crawls into his sleepin'-bag alongside th' cabin, but me and Magpie holes up down near th' crick.

That night I wonders out-loud, in Magpie's hearin', what are we goin' to do? Also I mentions in my oration that any man what ain't got no more sense than to tie up with uh rattle-headed pardner, not mentionin' any names, but givin' uh fair description, ought to die early in life in self-defense.

"Field book!" I howls at th' Big Dipper. "He's got uh field book what shows th' dwellin'-place of suitable female grizzlies. Them records will show jist which said grizzly has bears by adoption and which has 'em by maternal instinct. I'm a expert on sidewinders and gophers, eh? Shore. All my life I've laid on my belly and observed th' home life uh said whistlin' diggers and crippled crawlers. I've allus crawled in th' best society uh Prairie Dog town. Accordin' to th' latest reports I'm livin' in uh dug-out and cultivatin' fangs. Pretty soon I'm due to coil up and bite somebody."

Magpie don't say uh word all th' time I'm reflectin' out loud, but after I rolls up in my blanket and drowses off to sleep he grabs me by th' shoulder and hisses in my ear--

"Ike, I've got it!"

Sometimes when uh feller gits to ravin' thataway he sez things about folks that he don't like, so I don't comment on him mentionin' Mighty Jones.

Uh course his right name ain't Mighty. He's uh pore li'l runty person, with corn-colored hair, and whiskers which makes him resemble uh mountain goat gone to seed. One day he gits into a argument with uh whale of uh jasper named "Buzzard" Bell. Buzzard is big enough to tie Jones in uh bow-knot, and he grins down at Jones and informs him of th' fact. Jones takes off his coat, throws it on th' floor, jumps on it with both boots, spits on his hands and yells:

"I'm small but I'm Gawd A'mighty Jones!" That's how he gits th' cognomen.

He's livin' up in uh li'l cabin at th' forks of Plenty Stone crick, and he ain't noways friendly nor confidential. He's plumb afraid that somebody will jump his alleged copper claim, which don't assay enough per ton to plate uh twenty-two cartridge shell.

"She's goin' to work out to uh gnat's eyebrow, Ike," states Magpie when I don't seem uh heap concerned over his former joyful declaration.

Magpie sets up in his blankets and rolls uh cigaret.

"Yessir," sez he, after th' smoke is goin', "that's th' solution--partly. Ike, we could use Mighty Jones's bear fer this here scientific experiment."

"Uh-huh," I agrees. "We shore could, only fer several reasons. Mighty's animile happens to be uh brown bear and, bein' as its name is Abe, it don't stand to reason that its got any maternal instinct, much less uh cub. And what is uh heap more to th' point, Magpie: Mighty would perforate anybody what bothered that brute. If Mighty had about twice as much sense as he's got he'd be half-witted, and I argues that uh fool and uh shotgun is dangerous. Them's my sentiments, Magpie. Th' whole thing is crazy. Yore all crazy, Magpie. Th' perfessor is loco, th' doc is likewise afflicted and Mrs. Perfessor is showin' symptoms. You been crazy fer years and years, Magpie, and I'm gittin' suspicious uh myself. Let's put some cyanide in their coffee in th' morning, and then you and me will go down in Death Valley and dig fer coconuts, Magpie. And besides we ain't got no cub fer Abie."

"Objextions all overruled, Ike. In th' first place, Perfessor Phinney nor any of them wouldn't know uh brown bear from uh grizzly, and in th' second place, we'll go down cautious like and rent Mighty's bear."

"What'll we do fer uh cub?"

Didn't Magpie tell th' perfessor he had one? Shore did. That's what makes Magpie's conduct so danged inconsistent. He didn't have no right to git sore about it. Anyway, it's showin' danged little knowledge uh social etikette when uh feller hits yuh on th' head with uh rock as big as yore fist--especially when yore in bed. Uh course I returns it in th' proper spirit, but my feelin's is soarin' and I shoots high.

Did yuh ever hear half uh dozen long-eared, flea-bitten jackasses split th' stillness of th' night with their melodjus voices? Don't tell me that animiles like that don't talk to each other. They shore must or they couldn't know jist when to cut loose all to oncet thataway, and make th' short hair on th' back uh yore neck crawl right over and tickle yuh under th' chin.

That herd of Rocky Mountain canaries cuts loose right over our recumbent forms and scares delirious delight out of our feelin's fer uh minute. They jist orates one short, "Ha-a-aaw!" and then quits cold.

We stands erect in our blankets and sez things to them jacks, but they jist nods in th' gloom, and wiggles their ears. They sorta surrounds us, and won't go away. Not bein' in need uh any more music, we gits peevish like.

"Let's go over across th' crick," sez Magpie. "Them blasted animile Carusos is too friendly, and it's uh cinch they'll stay on this side of th' crick."

We ambles down toward th' crick, still wrapped in our blankets, like uh pair uh Injuns, when all to oncet we gits another sensation.

"Whang! Zee-e-e-e! Whang! Zee-e-e-e!"

Th' gentle evenin' is shattered. It's bad enough to have yore ear-drums shattered, but when each shatter is followed by uh handful uh bird-shot, which "skees" and "zees" across yore form and fills yore eyes with lint from yore blanket, it's time to investigate. Magpie is near th' crick bank when it happens, and I looks up jist in time to see Magpie disappear over th' bank, and uh splash informs me that he is in th' wet.

"Bung! Zee-e-e-e!" goes that scatter-gun ag'in, only this time it's both barrels. I hears Magpie spit out uh personal cuss word and splash back into th' crick.

"Heaven is my home," states uh voice in th' gloom, which I recognizes as bein' that of th' doctor, and I hears him rastlin' around in th' brush.

"Cut--cut--cut it out, yuh blamed maverick!" quavers Magpie, and I sees his arms wavin' over th' bank of th' crick in uh signal uh distress.

"Gracious! Did I hit you? Did it go past you?" yells th' doc.

Magpie raises his string-bean carcass on th' bank, shakes th' water out of his hair, and whoops:

"What went past? Yuh blasted, overfed, red-faced porkypine. What do yuh reckon yo're tryin' to do?"

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