* * * * *

It was late the following day that the pair made camp in one of the Road Commission’s grading camps. They stirred up a batch of sour dough, dried out the tent and made themselves at home. While Dave prepared the evening meal in the cook tent Sam overhauled two bunks in a structure serving in Summer as a bunk house.

They ate the meal in silence and turned in immediately afterwards. The music of the river moving lazily between banks of snow lulled Sam to sleep, but Dave turned over frequently and counted sheep in an effort to slumber. His thoughts turned to bear.

Down in his heart he knew there was more than a gentle request in her mind when Mary Hanna asked for a bear rug the color of her eyes. Perhaps there was even the faintest bit of jealousy, but Dave never thought of that. He knew that it was a plea to justify her faith in his prowess, and it was this desire to make good that was driving him forward mercilessly.

Sam was snoring! At any other time Dave could have slept despite Sam’s snores, but now it was impossible. “Turn over on your side!” he growled, “and cut out that snoring!”

Sam turned sleepily, there was silence, then he flopped back again. The snoring was resumed. Dave looked at his watch. Eleven o’clock. What a night! He was almost asleep after an eternity when Sam put on another record and snored louder than ever. Dave gathered up his blankets and made a bed on the floor of the cook tent. Presently he slept.

It was not quite dawn that a three-year-old brown bear, rather large for his age, a hundred percent baby by conservative judging, emerged from a timbered ridge and made his way toward the river. Frequently he sniffed. Once in his life he had tasted bacon scraps left by a prospector and he had never forgotten either the taste nor the scent. As he came nearer the river the scent became stronger.

He eyed the tents with interest and noted the presence of mankind, but being a brown bear he advanced rather than retreated. His keen nose led him to the cook tent. He entered and the flap fell behind him. His paws knocked over a coffee pot and two kettles in his efforts to reach the slab of bacon swinging just above. The rattle of the pot aroused the sleeper.

“Getting breakfast, Sam? Had a devil of a night, on account of your snoring. Make that coffee strong!”

The reply was a growl of deeper tones than Sam gave even in his grouchy moods. It was a sort of rumble as if the tones were being dragged over a washboard.

Dave leaped from his blankets with a wild light in his eyes.

“SAM!” he bellowed.

Distant peaks echoed the word. The next moment Dave had hurled the table, dishes and all at the intruder. The rattle of tin was deafening. The bear plunged headlong into the tent wall and ropes. The tent collapsed and somewhere beneath the violent bulging a man and bear sought to escape.

Sam leaped from his own tent and stood bare-footed in the snow with rifle in his hand. He did not know what to shoot at for bear and man made similar bulges in the wrecked tent.

“Now’s your chance,” yelled Sam excitedly, “you’ll never have a better one. You always claimed when trouble came your way you waded in. Wade in and use your knife like you did in the story!”

“He ain’t the right color!” screamed the desperate partner who somehow had gotten on the bottom with the table, minus legs on top and the bear on top of the table. Condensed milk trickled down his neck, the pepper box came open and the bear snorted. “Hurry Sam, he’s got me, I feel blood, my own cold blood trickling down my neck.”

Sam leaped for the tent as the canvas was stained a deep red. The next instant he was sent sprawling as the seams parted and the bear emerged. Sam lifted his rifle and aimed. “Pink!” went the hammer as he pulled the trigger.

“Dog gone! Forgot to slip a ca’tridge in after I cleaned it!”

He jerked the lever, aimed and fired. The peaks echoed with the roar of the rifle, the bear dropped at the last shot and Sam stood with pink feet in the snow and empty rifle in his hands.

“Just the color of her eyes, too!” he announced, trying to warm one foot against the calf of the other leg.

The canvas parted and Dave Sloan emerged. In one hand he held the bread knife; his shirt was torn from his shoulders and across his chest were three furrows that only a bear’s claw could make. His back was covered with condensed milk, salt, pepper and butter, garnished with sugar. His brow and face were wet for he had perspired heavily during the brief interval of the bear’s arrival and departure.

“I’m through!” he announced, “I’m through hunting bears and telling bear yarns. I’m going to throw myself on the mercy of the court. Never again do I claim to be the greatest bear hunter in Alaska. There are other honors a fellow can go after. Still, Sam, we may as well dress, go over and skin your bear!”

“I aim to give it to her as a present if it ain’t too badly riddled with bullets!” He looked at his partner. “You sure had a swell chance to get him with that knife while he was clawing you.”

Dave nodded.

“Yep!” he admitted, “but I was trying to cut my way out. I did swing her at him a few times for luck, but mostly I was trying to cut my way out and when I did open a hole, the bear went through it.”

* * * * *

Mary Hanna watched Sam spread a raw skin at her feet. It was a fine pelt, in prime condition.

“Oh, Dave!” she cried, “let’s hear the story!”

“I’m through telling bear yarns and now that I’ve had a real experience some of the lies I used to tell are better. Sam, if you feel like telling her this yarn go to it. I’ll back up anything you say!”

Sam flushed!

“I can’t make myself a hero and I ain’t going to try. Fact is on account of my snores Dave moved into the cook tent and the bear smelling bacon moved in too. Now I can’t tell you exactly what happened, nor can Dave because neither of us seen it.

“Dave couldn’t see because he was too close for a good view and I couldn’t tell much by the bulges. Anyway the tent fell down and Dave and the bear went to it. Dave tackled him with a knife and stabbed him through the heart.”

The girl seemed to freeze.

“Dave and Sam, I am disappointed in you. You are fibbing to me again. The two trappers who told you a number of bear stories followed along to see the fun and they saw it. They tell me Sam emptied his rifle at the bear after he left the tent!”

“Hah!” grunted Sam, “they told the truth; I did empty my rifle, but you see I must have been excited!”

He held up the bear skin.

“Not a hole in it except a single knife thrust over the heart. Shooting is one thing and hitting is something else!”

He held the pelt close and looked deep into the girl’s eyes.

“By heck, the color is the same!” he exclaimed.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in North•West Stories, August, 1925. It is believed to be in the public domain in the United States; copyright status may differ in other countries.]