“While cook slept sweetly, Bruin had rooted off the cover of the pot, and this was the beginning of cook’s dream.

“But the pot was hot, and the first mouthful of the savory mess made him yell with rage and pain. At this point the trumpets and clarions grew shrill in cook’s dreaming ears.

“Then an angry sweep of the great paw had dashed pot and kettle off the stove in a thunder of crashing iron and clattering tins. This was the point at which cook’s dream had attained overwhelming reality.

“What met his round-eyed gaze, as he sat up in his blankets, was an angry bear, dancing about in a confusion of steam and smoke and beans and kettles, making ineffectual snatches at a lump of scalding pork upon the floor.

“After a moment of suspense, cook rose softly and crept to the other end of the bunks, where a gun was kept. To his disgust the weapon was unloaded. But the click of the lock had caught the bear’s attention. Glancing up at the bunk above him, the brute’s eye detected the shrinking cook, and straightway he overflowed with wrath. Here, evidently, was the author of his discomfort.

“With smarting jaws and vengeful paws he made a dash for the bunk. Its edge was nearly seven feet from the floor, so Bruin had to do some clambering. As his head appeared over the edge, and his great paws took firm hold upon the clapboard rim of the bunk, cook, now grown desperate, struck at him wildly with the heavy butt of the gun. But Bruin is always a skilful boxer. With an upward stroke he warded off the blow, and sent the weapon spinning across the camp. At the same time, however, his weight proved too much for the frail clapboard to which he was holding, and back he fell on the floor with a shock like an earthquake.

“This repulse—which, of course, he credited to the cook—only filled him with tenfold greater fury, and at once he sprang back to the assault; but the delay, however brief, had given poor cook time to grasp an idea, which he proceeded to act upon with eagerness. He saw that the hole in the roof through which the stovepipe protruded was large enough to give his body passage. Snatching at a light rafter above his head, he swung himself out of the bunk, and kicked the stovepipe from its place. The sections fell with loud clatter upon the stove and the bear, for a moment disconcerting Bruin’s plans. From the rafter it was an easy reach to the opening in the roof, and as Bruin gained the empty bunk and stretched his paw eagerly up toward his intended victim on the rafter, the intended victim slipped with the greatest promptitude through the hole.

“At this point the cook drew a long breath, and persuaded his heart to go down out of his throat, where it had been since he waked, and resume its proper functions.

“His first thought was to drop from the roof and run for help, but fortunately he changed his mind. The bear was no fool. No sooner had the cook got safely out upon the roof than Bruin rushed forth from the camp-door, expecting to catch him as he came down.

“Had cook acted upon his first impulse, he would have been overtaken before he had gone a hundred yards, and would have perished hideously in the snow. As it was, however,—evidently to Bruin’s deep chagrin,—he stuck close to the chimney-hole, like a prairie-dog sitting by his burrow, ready at a moment’s notice to plunge within, while the bear stalked deliberately twice around the camp, eying him, and evidently laying plans, as it were, for his capture.

“At last the bear appeared to make up his mind. At one corner of the shanty, piled up nearly to the eaves, was a store of firewood which ‘cookee’ had gathered in. Upon this pile Bruin mounted, and then made a dash up the creaking roof.

“Cook prayed most fervently that it might give way beneath the great weight of the bear, and to see if it would do so he waited almost too long; but it did not. As he scurried, belated, through the hole, the bear’s paw reached its edge, and the huge claws tore nearly all the flesh from the back of the poor fellow’s hand. Bleeding and trembling he crouched upon the friendly rafter, not daring to swing down into the bunk.

“The agility of that great animal was marvellous. Scarcely had cook got under shelter when Bruin rushed in again at the door, and was up on the bunk again in a twinkling, and again cook vanished by the chimney-place. A moment later the bear was again on the roof, while cook once more crouched back faintly on his rafter. This performance was repeated several times, till for cook it had quite ceased to be interesting.

“At last the chase grew monotonous even to the indefatigable Bruin, who then resolved upon a change of tactics. After driving cook out through the chimney, he decided to try the same mode of exit for himself, or at least to thrust his head through the opening, and see what it was like. Embracing the woodwork with his powerful forepaws, he swung himself up on the rafter, as he had seen cook do so gracefully. The attempt was quite successful; but the rafter was not prepared for the strain, and Bruin and beam came thundering to the floor.

“As cook gazed down through the hole, and marked what had happened, his heart sank utterly within him. His one safe retreat was gone. But Bruin did not perceive his advantage, or else was in no hurry to follow it up. The shock had greatly dampened his zeal. He sat on his haunches by the stove, and gazed up sullenly at cook, while cook gazed back despairingly at him.

“Then the bear noticed that the precious pork had got deliciously cool, and in the charms of that rare morsel cook was soon quite forgotten. All cook had to do was to lie on the roof, nursing his lacerated hand, and watching Bruin as he made away with the lumbermen’s dinner,—a labor of love in which he lost no time.

“At this junction a noise was heard in the woods, and hope came back to the cook’s heart. The men were returning for dinner. Bruin heard it too, and made haste to gulp down the remnant of the beans. Just as teams and choppers emerged into the little cleared space in front of the camp, Bruin, having swallowed his last mouthful, rushed out of the camp-door, to the breathless and immeasurable amazement of the lumbermen.

“Finding himself to all appearances surrounded, Bruin paused a moment irresolutely. Then charging upon the nearest team, he dealt the teamster a terrific cuff, bowling him over in the snow and breaking his arm, while the maddened horses plunged, reared, and fell over backward in a tangle of sleds and traces and lashing heels.

“This episode brought the woodsmen to their senses. Axe in hand, they closed in upon the bear, who rose on his hind-quarters to meet them. The first few blows that were delivered at him, with all the force of practised arms and vindictive energy, he warded off as if they were so many feathers; but he could not guard himself on all sides at once. A well-directed blow from the rear sank the axe-head deep between his fore-shoulders, severing the spinal column, and Bruin collapsed, a furry heap, upon the crimsoned snow.

“In their indignation over the cook’s torn hand, their comrade’s broken arm, and—perhaps most aggravating of all—their thoroughly demolished dinner, the lumbermen undertook to make a meal of Bruin; but in this attempt Bruin found a measure of revenge, for in death he proved to be even tougher than he had been in life, and the famous luxury of a fat bear-steak was nowhere to be had from his carcass.”

“And now, Magnus,” continued Sam, cleaning out his pipe, “we’ll have something remote and tropical from you, with your kind permission. What else has happened to that uncle of yours?”

“Lots of things,” said the imperturbable Magnus. “I’ll tell you one of his Mexican stories, which he calls—

‘AN ENCOUNTER WITH PECCARIES.’

This is, as near as I can remember, the way he told it to me. I speak in his name.

“In my somewhat varied wanderings over the surface of this fair round world,” said my uncle, “I have had adventures more or less exciting, and generally disagreeable, with wolves, bears, and tigers, with irate and undiscriminating bulls, and with at least one of those painfully unpleasant horses, who have acquired a special relish for human flesh. Some childish memories, moreover, disclose to me at times that on more than one occasion I have come off without laurels from a contest with an indignant he-goat, and that I have even been in peril at the wings of an unusually aggressive gander. But of all the unpleasant acquaintances to make when one is feeling solitary and unprotected, I think a herd of irritated peccaries will carry off the palm. Let these sturdy little animals once conceive that their rights have been ever so little menaced, and they are tireless, implacable, and blindly fearless in their demand for vengeance. Just what they may interpret as a menace to their rights I suppose no man can say with any confidence; but my own observation has led me to believe that they think themselves entitled to possess the earth. The earth is much to be congratulated upon the fact that various climatic considerations have hitherto prevented them from entering upon their inheritance. The peccary is confined, I believe, and I state it here on the authority of reputable naturalists, to certain tropical and sub-tropical regions of the New World. My own limited acquaintance with the creature was gained in Mexico.

“Toward the end of the seventies I was engaged upon a survey of government lands in one of the interior provinces of Mexico. Our party was enjoying life, and troubled by few cares. There were no bandits in that region. The scanty inhabitants were more than well-disposed; they were ready to bow down before us in their deferential good-will. The climate, though emphatically warm, was healthful and stimulating. There were hardly enough pumas in the neighborhood to add to our content the zest of excitement. There were peccaries, as we were told in admonition, but we had seen no sign of them; and when we learned that they were only a kind of small wild pig we took little stock in the tales we heard of their unrelenting ferocity.

“On one of our numerous holidays—we could not work our peons on any saint’s day be it remembered—a rumor of a remarkable waterfall adorning a tributary of the stream which meandered past our camp had taken me a longish ride into the foothills of the Sierra. My journey was along a little-frequented trail leading into the mountains, and the scenery was fascinating in its loveliness. I found the waterfall easily enough, for the trail led past its very brink, and I was more than rewarded for the trifling fatigue of my ride. A vigorous stream, rolling from a winding ravine in such a manner that it seemed to burst right out of the mountain-side, leaped sparkling and clamoring into the air from a curtain of emerald foliage, and fell a distance of nearly two hundred feet into a very valley of paradise. In this valley, down into the bosom of which I gazed from my height, the stream lingered to form a sapphire lakelet, around whose banks grew the most luxuriant of tree-ferns and mahoganies and mesquits garlanded with gorgeous-bloomed lianas. I could hear the cries of parrots rising from the splendid coverts, and I thought what a delicious retreat the valley would be but for its assortment of snakes, miasma, and a probable puma or two. I enjoyed the scene from my post, but I did not descend. Then I turned my face homeward, well content.

“The horse I rode requires more than a passing mention, for he played the most prominent and most heroic part in the adventure which befell me on my way home. He was a superb beast, a blood bay, whom I had bought in the city of Mexico from an American engineer who was leaving the country. The animal, who answered to the name of Diaz, had seen plenty of service in the interior of Mexico, and his trained instincts had kept me out of many dangers. I loved Diaz as a faithful friend and servant.

“As I descended from the foothills the trail grew heavy and soft, making our progress slow. The land was open,—a succession of rank meadows, with clumps of trees dotted here and there, and pools on either side of the trail. Suddenly, some distance in my rear, there arose a shrill, menacing chorus of grunts and squeals, at which I would fain have paused to listen. But Diaz recognized the sounds, and bounded forward instantly with every sign of apprehension. Then I said to myself, ‘It must be those peccaries of which I’ve heard so much.’

“In a moment or two I realized that it certainly was those peccaries. They swarmed out of the rank herbage and dashed after us, gnashing their jaws; and, though Diaz was doing his best, the herd gained upon us rapidly. They galloped lightly over the soft soil wherein Diaz sank far above his fetlocks. It took me but a moment to realize, when at last face to face with them, that the peccaries were just as dangerous as they had been represented. And another moment sufficed to show me that escape by my present tactics was impossible.

“I was armed with a light breech-loading rifle,—a Remington,—and a brace of Smith & Wessons were sticking in my belt. Wheeling in my saddle I took a snap shot at the pursuing herd, and one of the animals tumbled in his tracks. His fellows took no notice of this whatever. Then I marked that Diaz appreciated our plight, for he was trembling under me. I looked about me, almost despairing of escape.

“A little behind, nearly half-way between us and the peccaries, I saw a wide-spreading tree close to the trail. We had passed it at the first of the alarm. Ahead, as far as I could see, there was no such refuge. Plenty of trees there were indeed, but all standing off amid the swamps. I decided at once upon a somewhat desperate course. I turned Diaz about, and charged down upon the peccaries with a yell.

“This stratagem appeared exactly to my horse’s taste. In fact, his attitude made me rather uncomfortable. He seemed suddenly distraught. He gave several short whinnying cries of challenge or defiance, and rushed on with his mouth wide open and his hips rolled back in a fashion that made him look fiendish. My design was to swing myself from the saddle into the tree that overhung the trail, and so give Diaz a chance to run away, when free of my weight. But Diaz seemed bent on carrying the war into the enemy’s country.

“I took one more shot at the peccaries, who seemed no whit dismayed by the onset of Diaz. I dropped my rifle, and kicked my feet out of the stirrups. By this time we were under the tree, and the peccaries with wild squeals were leaping upon us. I had just succeeded in grasping a branch above my head, and was swinging myself up, when I saw Diaz spring into the air, and come down with his forefeet upon one of the grunting herd. The brute’s back was broken. Almost in the same instant my brave steed’s teeth had made short work of another peccary; but his flanks were streaming with blood, and the dauntless animals were literally climbing upon him and ripping his hide with their short, keen tusks. I emptied my revolvers rapidly, and half a dozen animals dropped; but this made no appreciable difference in their numbers. Meanwhile Diaz had gathered himself together, and then, lashing out desperately before and behind, had shaken himself free. He sprang clear of the pack, and galloped off up the trail toward the mountains.

“The peccaries pursued him but a few paces, and then returned to besiege my tree of refuge, giving me an excellent opportunity for revolver practice. As I was refilling my emptied chambers, I heard a snorting screech coming down the trail; and there to my amazement was Diaz returning to the charge. But could that terrible-looking beast be my gentle Diaz? His eyes seemed like blazing coals, and his great jaws were dripping with blood. The peccaries darted joyously into the fray, but Diaz went right through and over them like a whirlwind, mangling I know not how many in his course, and disappeared down the trail on the homeward road. His charge had been murderous, but there were still plenty of my adversaries left to make my beleaguerment all too effective. I gazed wistfully after my heroic horse, and then, perched securely astride a branch, I continued my revolver practice. The peccaries, never heeding the diminution of their ranks, and disdaining to notice their wounds, kept scrambling on one another’s shoulders, and thrusting their malignant snouts high into the air in the hope of coming at me and satiating their revenge.