Part 49 (1/2)
Suddenly Mr. Appel let out such a cry as seemed that it must not only split his throat but rend the very heavens. Small wonder! A cinnamon bear weighing in the neighbourhood of eight hundred pounds planted its left hind foot in the pit of his stomach as it went galloping away to the timber.
In the brush where Mr. Penrose had been sleeping tranquilly other things were happening. In the midst of his slumbers, a dream in which he thought he was being dragged to the fire like a calf for branding came to him. The dream grew so real that it awakened him. He received a swift and unpleasant impression that he was moving, then he was startled to find that he was not only moving, but moving so rapidly that the canvas bottom of his tent was sc.r.a.ping on the rocks and brush over which it travelled.
Mr. Penrose was enraged instantly. At best he had little patience with practical jokers and none at all with one who had the impudence to awaken him. He called out angrily.
The tent stopped moving and there was quiet.
Mr. Penrose, who had raised himself on his elbow, laid down and was about to begin where he had left off when his domicile resumed its journey.
Now thoroughly aroused, he sprang up and tore at the flap-fastenings.
”This is going to stop right here!” he cried, furiously. ”I do not appreciate this odious Western humour. You have chosen the wrong person to play your jokes on!”
He reached for the pointed fish-pole which was lying in its case in the bottom of the tent and stepped through the opening.
A burly figure in a big overcoat stood in the deep shadow confronting him.
Mr. Penrose was bare-footed and his soles were tender but he advanced far enough to bring the pole down with a thwack upon the head of the intruder.
”Woof! Woof!”
The answer raised his hair and galvanized his whiskers.
”Woof! Woof!” A great paw fanned the air--he could feel the wind from it plainly as it reached out to cuff him--and the claws on the end of it tore the front of the flannel s.h.i.+rt in which he slept to ribbons.
”Woof! Woof!” And then a roar that reverberated through the timber.
Mr. Penrose swore afterward that the hot breath of the brute was in his face, but the statement is open to question since at the first ”Woof!”
he had fallen into his tent backward.
No one dreamed of the adventure Mr. Penrose was having until he appeared among them with his s.h.i.+rt bosom in shreds and trembling like an aspen.
In one hand he carried a sizeable chunk of bacon.
”This,” he cried, brandis.h.i.+ng it, ”is what I found tied to my teepee!”
The explanation was obvious, someone had baited his tent for bear on purpose, and, since there was no way of obtaining evidence against the culprit, Mr. Penrose in his unreasoning rage accused everybody.
”Ever since I came, you have all had a pick on me!” He glared at them.
”You needn't think you're so smart I haven't seen it.”
Everyone was so surprised at the accusation that they could only stare, speechless, at him. With his white beard, rags, and bare-footed, Mr.
Penrose looked like the Count of Monte Cristo telling the world what he was going to do to it as he added, waving the bacon:
”I'm going home to-morrow--to Delaware--back to my peach orchard--and if any one of you ever say you know me--much less speak to me--I shall deny it. I'm done with the whole caboodle of you!”
Protestations were useless and efforts to dissuade him from his purpose of leaving. The next morning he packed his bag and started down the road without saying good-bye to any one.
His departure reduced the party to half its original number, and that was bad enough, but when by lunch-time Mr. Appel had developed a soreness which led him to believe he was injured internally and should consult a physician, the situation became infinitely worse to Wallie and Pinkey.