The Arkansaw Bear Part 13

As the music rolled out on the water there rose to the surface another half circle of dark objects. The Bear shut his eyes and his voice grew faint. They were snapping turtles.

"Stop, Bo!" he wailed. "It's no use. It only brings more of 'em, and new kinds."

"No, no; go on," whispered Bo, who had crept down quite to the water's edge. "Now--ready! sing!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: Music]

"Then 'tis 'Gator, Alligator, we expect to see you later, If you really have to leave us--if you can't remain to tea--

[Ill.u.s.tration: Music]

Then 'tis Turtle, Mr. Turtle, you will notice we are fertile, In providing entertainment for our com--pa--nee."

New arrivals appeared constantly until the water and logs and stumps by the water's edge were alive with listening creatures. Still remembering the panther dance the boy called in a whisper to Horatio:--

"Softly now; sing it again."

They repeated the song, letting their voices and music gradually blend into the whispering of the trees. Bo sang with closed eyes, but the watching Bear saw the listening circle of heads sink lower and lower so gently that he could not be sure when the water had closed over them.

From roots and logs and stumps dark forms slid noiselessly into the stream and disappeared. The music died away and ceased. Horatio looked at the little boy eagerly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HELP! HELP!"]

"Quick, the pole, Bo," he called softly. "They're all gone."

A moment later he was holding on to the cane pole with teeth and claws and being towed to sh.o.r.e. As he marched up the bank he picked up the large fish that was still flopping at the end of the line.

"Very fine, Bosephus," he said, holding it up. "You wouldn't have had that fish for supper if it hadn't been for me, Bosephus."

CHAPTER XI

THE ROAD HOME

"Going back to Arkansaw as fast as we can go-- Never mind the winter time--never mind the snow, For the weather's not so chilly as the Louisiana law, And we'll feel a good deal safer in the Ar--kan--saw."

IT had happened in this way. The afternoon before Christmas had come and the little boy and the Bear had been talking over a Christmas dinner for the next day.

"Bosephus," Horatio had said, "we must have something extra. I should like a real old-fashioned dinner. One such as I used to have; but, of course, that is all over now." And there was an untamed, regretful look in his eyes.

"Ratio," said Bo, "we have got a lot of money--nearly two hundred dollars. We can afford to have something good. I will buy a duck and a turkey and maybe some pies. We'll take a holiday and eat from morning till night if we feel like it."

The Bear smiled at this thought and touched the strings of the violin.

"Oh, we'll buy a tender turkey, and we'll buy a youthful duck, And some pies, perhaps, and cookies, and some doughnuts, just for luck, And we'll take our Christmas dinner where the balmy breezes stray, And we'll spread it in the sunshine and we'll eat--all--day."

Suddenly he paused in his singing and listened. They were coming out into an open s.p.a.ce and there was a sound of a voice speaking. Somebody was talking in a foreign language that Bo did not understand, but the Bear trembled with eagerness.

"Bo," he whispered, "that's Italian. That's the way my first teacher talked. The one that abused me--and died."

The Bear licked out his tongue fiercely at this memory and pushed forward into the open, the little boy following. As they stepped out where they could see, Bosephus uttered an exclamation and Horatio a snort of surprise. By the roadside sat a dark-browed, villainous-looking Italian and before him stood a miserable half-starved bear cub, which he was trying to teach. He would speak a few words to it and then beat it fiercely with a heavy stick. The little bear cowered and trembled and could not obey. Horatio gave a low dangerous growl as Bo held him back.

The Italian turned and saw them.

"What are you beating that cub for?" asked Bo, sternly.

The Italian looked at him evilly.

"Maka him grow an' dance an' playa fid, lika yo' bear," he said, sullenly. "Soa he maka da mun'."

"That won't do it. You can teach him better with kindness. Throw that stick away. Aren't you ashamed of yourself."

"Minda yo' own biz," was the insolent reply.

The little boy saw that it would not be safe to stay there any longer.

The cub was whining pitifully and Horatio was becoming furious. He turned away, the Bear following reluctantly. When they had gone perhaps a half a mile Horatio paused.

"Let's camp here," he said. "This is a nice place and I'm tired."

Bosephus was tired, too. The day before Christmas with its merry preparation had been a big day among the plantations and the friends had reaped a harvest.

"All right, Ratio," he said, and they made preparations for the night, though it was still quite early.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "MAKA HIM GROW AN' DANCE AN' PLAY A 'FID'."]

"Bo," said the Bear, reflectively, "Christmas always reminds me of when I was a little cub like that poor little fellow we saw back yonder.

I was a Christmas present--by accident."

"A Christmas present by accident! How was that?"

"It was this way. I was always brave and adventurous, as you know. My folks lived in a very large tree and were all asleep for the winter except me. I stayed awake so as to run away and see the world. Well, I started out and I travelled and I travelled. It was all woods and I lost my way. By and by I got very tired and climbed up into a thick evergreen tree to rest. I suppose I went to sleep and some men who were out hunting for a Christmas tree must have picked out mine and tied the limbs together tight with cords and cut it down. Then I suppose they must have carried me home and set the tree up in its place and untied the cords, for the first I knew I was tumbling out on to a carpet in a big room, and a lot of children were screaming and running in every direction. I was bigger and some fatter than that cub we saw with the Italian--poor little fellow.

"I'd like to talk to that villain about five minutes alone," continued Horatio, grimly. "I'm sure I could interest him. I'd tell him about the man that used to beat me, and I might give him an imitation of what happened to him," and the big fellow rose and walked back and forth in excitement.

"But go on with your story, Ratio; what happened to you after you fell out of the Christmas tree?"

"Oh! the children tamed me and fed me till I got so big they were afraid of me, and then I ate up some young pigs and a calf and went away."

"You ran away, you mean. What happened then?"

"Well, I went quite a distance and fell in with a circus. I learned to dance there and stayed with them a while. But one day the young ibex came in to see me and they couldn't find anything of him after that except his horns, and seemed suspicious of me, so I went away again."

"Oh, Ratio!"

"Yes; I travelled and changed about a good deal till by and by I fell in with the Italian who promised to teach me to play the violin, and he did teach me some, as you know, but he wasn't kind to me, so I--I wore mourning for him a while, and went away again. Then I met up with you, and you taught me the second part of our tune, and we went into partnership and I reformed, and we've been together ever since. We've been in some pretty close places together, Bosephus, but I've always managed to pull us through safely, and you have behaved very n.o.bly, too, at times, Bosephus--very n.o.bly, indeed."

"Are you sure you have reformed, Horatio?"