Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1890-03-27
thing warm, something shaggy, some

1t was all he dared to do to look at the
dreadful object, but the faint light from
the ashes showed that it was large and
long and dark.
He could see its slight movement as
it breathed with heavy, audible regu,
larity that was almost Snore.
1t was bear, of course. He knew
that from the first He shut his teeth
| tight to keep them from chattering, and
tried to think.
He had always believed that there
might be bears somewhere in these
woods. Back of the sugar-bush, they
extended half a mile north, and ended
in an overrun jungle which was not
often penetrated. And Ben had heard
his Uncle Joseph tell of the bears that
used to haunt the place in his day, and
how he had helped trap one once and
eaten piece of steak from the old fel-
low, though it was tough, and got dol
lar or two for his share of the pelt.
1t was not impossible, Uncle Joseph
had himself admitted, that bear might
turn up there some day yet. Ben had
believed it, and now he knew it.
The bear had turned up, and had
scented them out, and was here asleep,
not two feet away from them. How
long would he stay asleep?
Ben shut his eyes and clutched his
hands tensely under the blankets, his
lips grew dry and his forehead moist.
How long had it been there? How had
it come in?
He felt the wind across his face. The
blanket at the end of the shed, he saw,
was torn down at one side. The sharp
night air filed the shed, and Ben shiver-
ed in it.
He peered into the corner where Fred
lay rolled up like mummy and sound
ly sleeping. If he could wake him!
But what then?
They could not get away without rous-
ing the bear. They would not dare to
stir or to speak, for fear. Ben caught
his breath and held it tremulously, for
even now he could distinctly hear the
animal stir restlessly in its slumber.
The trees kept up whispering rustic
in the wind; from a distance came the
plaintive cry of an owl, and to poor Ben
the sounds were ghostly.
He thought of a hundred things swift
ly, as he had heard that drowning peo-
pie did. If he had a gun therel He
was sure he could use one RO1C, though
he never had. He had been begging his
father for rifle for two years. No1o he
would be sorry he had not let him have
one
He kept on thinking in confused
way confused by the dreadful, chilling
fear that held close possession of him.
He did not think he was coward. He
had climbed further up the rocks over
by the stone-quarry than any boy in
town, and he had almost drowned him
self last summer helping Harry Welty
when he had taken cramp in that deep
place in the river. But lying there, cold
and trembling and stiff from lack of
moving, with bear, live bear and a
big one, calmly, grimly snoozing be-
tween him and the door-well, it was
different.
He wondered whether his hair would
be white by morning-he had heard of
such things.
Would itnever be morning? But oh,
dear! how would that be any better?
What would happen when it was? He
did not dare to try to think. Was that
speck of the sky getting red from the
sun? No, only spark where the wig
wan bonfire had been. Why, he could
not have been asleep an hour; neither
fire could have lasted longer than that
They glimmered themselves out, even
as he thought it, and left him in blank
darkness.
And then at that very instant
He could not see it move, but he could
hear it-hear it stretch itself with a
yawning snap of its jaws, and scramble
to its feet and shake itself. He could
hear it scratch at the boards of the shed |
once or twice; he could hear its expert !
mental shifts. Then he heard it stepping
toward him.
Ben sat up. He did not know how
he found the strength to do it, nor why,
for he had no idea of fighting bear, r,and
he did not even think of trying to run.
He grew white and faint; ne felt a
strange humming in his ears, but he
did not know what it meant, for he had |
never tainted; he thought that the bear
had somehow wrought his direful pur-
pose, and that he was dying.
But he did not die, and he did not |
faint, either. There was a cool, damp |
nose thrust against his hand just at that |
moment, and then against his face, and
warm tongue licked his chin, and lit
tie, sharp, joyful bark broke the still
ness. The "bear" jumped into Ben's lap
and rubbed his head against his should
er and tried to burrow in under the COW
ers. The bear was old Reg.
Well, Ben cried. He was 13 years
old, and expected to go into long trow
sers before another March came round, |
he was so tall; but he caught Reg in a /
strong embrace, and buried his face in
his curly hair, and cried; he would have
screamed if he had not.
As it was, he woke up Fred with his
racket, and he set up and listened in be-
wilderment.
"You dear old dogr' Ben was shout
ing. "You darling old dog! Did you
know l thought you were bear, Reggy?
No, you don't know it. My graciousl
and you came all the way up here after
me, old fellow? You could't stand it
any longer. And whipped you, Reggy,
yes l did. Oh, goodness, don't believe
you killed that chicken! You never did
such thing before, and 1 don't believe
it. There wasn't anything but circum
stantial evidence, and didn't investi-
gate bit. Crawl right in, Reggy. Isn't
that warm and jolly? oh, you good old
doggie! You never killed that chick
enr'
And truly, Mr.. Adams stopped the
boys, when they went home the next
morning, with Reg close at Ben's heels,
to tell them that he had good reason to
think that their dog had not killed his
chicken. He'd seen a hawk swoop
down from that old elm there, about half
an hour afterward and carry off a chicken
right before his eyes, and he suspected
that he had had that first one in his
clutches, and what Reg had been after
was the hawk, and the hawk had