Once upon a time there was a man who had to drive his sledge to the wood for fuel, and a bear met him on the way.

“Hand over your horse,” growled the bear, “or I’ll kill all your sheep by summer.”

“Oh, Heaven help me!” said the man. “There’s not a stick of firewood in the house; you must let me drive home a load of fuel, else we shall be frozen to death. I’ll bring the horse to you to-morrow morning.”

Yes; on these terms he might drive the wood home, that was a bargain; but Bruin said, if he didn’t come back, he should lose all his sheep by summer.

So the man got the wood on the sledge and rattled homeward, but he wasn’t over-pleased with his bargain, you may fancy.

So just then a fox met him. “Why, what’s the matter?” said the fox. “Why are you so down in the mouth?”

“Oh, if you want to know,” said the man, “I met a bear up yonder in the wood, and I had to give my word to him to bring Dobbin back to-morrow, at this very hour; for if he didn’t get him, he said he would tear all my sheep to death by summer.”

“Stuff! Nothing worse than that?” said the fox. “If you’ll give me your fattest wether I’ll soon set you free; see if I don’t.”

Yes, the man gave his word, and swore he would keep it true.

“Well, when you come with Dobbin, to-morrow, for the bear,” said the fox, “I’ll make a clatter up in the heap of stones yonder, and so, when the bear asks what that noise is, you must say it is Peter the Marksman, who is the best shot in the world. And after that you must help yourself.”

Now, next day, off set the man, and when he met the bear something began to make a clatter up in the heap of stones.

“Hist, hist! what’s that?” said the bear.

“Oh, that’s Peter the Marksman, to be sure,” said the man. “He’s the best shot in the world; I know him by his voice.”

“Have you seen any bear about here, Eric?” shouted out a voice in the wood.

“Say no,” said the bear.

“No, I haven’t seen any,” said Eric.

“What’s that, then, that stands alongside your sledge?” bawled out the voice in the wood.

“Say it’s an old fir-stump,” said the bear.

“Oh, it’s only an old fir-stump,” said the man.

“Such fir-stumps we take in our country and roll them on our sledges,” bawled out the voice. “If you can’t do it yourself, I’ll come and help you.”

“Say you can help yourself, and roll me up on the sledge,” said the bear.

“No, thank ye, I can help myself well enough,” said the man, and rolled the bear on the sledge.

“Such fir-stumps we always bind fast on our sledges in our part of the world,” bawled out the voice. “Shall I come and help you?”

“Say you can help yourself, and bind me fast, do,” said the bear.

“No, thanks, I can help myself well enough,” said the man, who set to binding Bruin fast with all the ropes he had, so that at last the bear couldn’t stir a paw.

“Such fir-stumps we always drive our ax into, in our part of the world,” bawled out the voice, “for then we guide them better going down steep pitches.”

“Pretend to drive the ax into me, do now,” said the bear.

Then the man took up his ax, and at one blow split the bear’s skull, so that Bruin lay dead in a trice; and so the man and the fox were great friends, and on the best of terms.

But when they came near the farm, the fox said: “I’ve no mind to go right home with you, for I can’t say I like your dogs; so I’ll just wait here, and you can bring the wether to me; but mind you pick out one nice and fat.”

Yes, the man would be sure to do that, and thanked the fox much for his help. So when he had put the horse into the stable he went across to the sheep-pen.

“Where are you going?” asked his wife.

“Oh, I am only going over to the sheep-pen to fetch a fat ram for that good fox who saved our horse,” said the man, “as I have promised him one.”

“Why on earth give that thief of a fox any ram?” said the woman. “We have got the horse quite safe and the bear besides, and the fox has stolen more geese from us than the ram is worth; or, if he hasn’t already taken them, he is sure to do so some time. No, take the most savage pair of those dogs of yours and let them loose on him, then perhaps we’ll get rid of that thieving old rascal,” said the woman.

The man thought this was sensible advice and took two of his savage red dogs, put them in a bag and set out with them.

“Have you got the ram?” said the fox.

“Yes, come and fetch it,” said the man, undoing the string round the bag and setting the dogs at the fox.

“Ugh!” said the fox, bounding away, “the old saying: ‘Well done: ill paid,’ is only too true; and now I find it is also true that one’s relations are one’s worst enemies,” and he panted as he saw the red dogs at his heels.