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Updated: May 31, 2025
"No, we're still there. Bears haven't eaten us yet." "That's strange, 'cause I seen a big flock of 'em headin' that way only th' other day. I says to my wife, says I, 'them b'ars is goin' to eat them boys, sure!" and he laughed at his joke. "Guess they got frightened," suggested Frank. "Wa'al, now, mebby they did. How long you goin't' stay?" "We haven't set any special time. All summer maybe.
I was wont from time to time to discuss these red folks with Gen'ral Stanton, who for years is stationed about in Arizona, an' merely for the love he b'ars to fightin' performs as chief of scouts for Gen'ral Crook. "'Our divers wars with the Apaches, says Gen'ral Stanton, 'comes more as the frootes of a misdeal by a locoed marshal than anything else besides.
Turning to one of the riflemen, an old hunter like himself, he whispered I overheard him: "I'll tell yer what it is, Nat: he kin whip his weight in wild-cats or grizzly b'ars any day in the year he kin, or my name ain't Bob Linkin."
"Anyway, you won't be troubled by the cold weather 'cause if you don't go back into the no'th where you belong, we'll be takin' you a prisoner way down south, where you don't belong. But you could have a good time there. We won't treat you bad. There's fine huntin' for b'ars in the canebrake an' the rivers an' bayous are full of fish. Your captivity won't be downright painful on you."
Let him glimpse or smell a white man, an' he goes scatterin' off across hill an' canyon like a quart of licker among forty men. They're shore apprehensife of them big bullets an' hard-hittin' guns, them b'ars is; an' they wouldn't listen to you, even if you talks nothin' but bee-tree an' gives a bond to keep the peace besides.
The best folks hev axed her to differ'nt kinds of doin's. I cyan't say, Mr. Goree, that sech things suits me fur me, give me them thar." Garvey's huge, yellow-gloved hand flourished in the direction of the mountains. "That's whar I b'long, 'mongst the wild honey bees and the b'ars. But that ain't what I come fur to say, Mr. Goree. Thar's somethin' you got what me and Missis Garvey wants to buy."
"Luck, does ye call it, to have your head cracked and your shins smashed by the copper-skins, chawed up by the b'ars, froze to death in the mountains, drowned in the rivers that run into the top of yer shanty when yer sound asleep your feet gnawed off by wolverines, as they call and but whisht! don't talk to me of luck, and all the time ye never gets a sight of a particle of gowld."
He kin lick tarnation out'n any o' you." Meanwhile I held back, never having been thrown with so many of my own kind. "He's shot painters and b'ars," said Andy. "An' skinned 'em. Kin you lick him, Smally? I reckon not." Now I had not come to the school for fighting. So I held back. Fortunately for me, Smally held back also. But he tried skilful tactics. "He kin throw you, Sandy."
As an explorer in the last few years in the course of his expeditions into undiscovered lands, he has added to this little world many thousands of square miles. Personally, Burnham is as unlike the scout of fiction, and of the Wild West Show, as it is possible for a man to be. He possesses no flowing locks, his talk is not of "greasers," "grizzly b'ars," or "pesky redskins."
A bullet went clean through my side, and that's a thing you can't overlook just at the time. I ain't fit yet for runnin' races with Injuns, or wrastlin' with b'ars, but I've got a good appetite an' I'm right fond o' sleep. I reckon I'm what you'd call a mighty interestin' invalid." "Invalid or not, you're the same old Sol," said Henry, who had finished dressing.
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