“No you won’t, Mr. Loup, for my mother will kill you first”

Twilight Animal Series

BUSTER
THE BIG BROWN
BEAR

By
GEORGE ETHELBERT WALSH

Author of “Bumper the White Rabbit,” “Bumper the White Rabbit in the Woods,” “Bumper the White Rabbit and His Foes,” “Bumper the White Rabbit and His Friends,” “Bobby Gray Squirrel,” “Bobby Gray Squirrel’s Adventures,” Etc.

Colored Illustrations by
EDWIN JOHN PRITTIE

THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
CHICAGOPHILADELPHIATORONTO

TWILIGHT ANIMAL SERIES
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS

FROM 4 TO 10 YEARS OF AGE

By
GEORGE ETHELBERT WALSH

(Other titles in preparation)
Issued in uniform style with this volume
PRICE 65 CENTS EACH, Postpaid
EACH VOLUME CONTAINS COLORED ILLUSTRATIONS

Copyright 1922 by
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
Copyright MCMXVII by George E. Walsh

INTRODUCTION TO THE TWILIGHT ANIMAL STORIES
By the Author

All little boys and girls who love animals should become acquainted with Bumper the white rabbit, with Bobby Gray Squirrel, with Buster the bear, and with White Tail the deer, for they are all a jolly lot, brave and fearless in danger, and so lovable that you won’t lay down any one of the books without saying wistfully, “I almost wish I had them really and truly as friends and not just story-book acquaintances.” That, of course, is a splendid wish; but none of us could afford to have a big menagerie of wild animals, and that’s just what you would have to do if you went outside of the books. Bumper had many friends, such as Mr. Blind Rabbit, Fuzzy Wuzz and Goggle Eyes, his country cousins; and Bobby Gray Squirrel had his near cousins, Stripe the chipmunk and Webb the flying squirrel; while Buster and White Tail were favored with an endless number of friends and relatives. If we turned them all loose from the books, and put them in a ten-acre lot—but no, ten acres wouldn’t be big enough to accommodate them, perhaps not a hundred acres.

So we will leave them just where they are—in the books—and read about them, and let our imaginations take us to them where we can see them playing, skipping, singing, and sometimes fighting, and if we read very carefully, and think as we go along, we may come to know them even better than if we went out hunting for them.

Another thing we should remember. By leaving them in the books, hundreds and thousands of other boys and girls can enjoy them, too, sharing with us the pleasures of the imagination, which after all is one of the greatest things in the world. In gathering them together in a real menagerie, we would be selfish both to Bumper, Bobby, Buster, White Tail and their friends as well as to thousands of other little readers who could not share them with us. So these books of Twilight Animal Stories are dedicated to all little boys and girls who love wild animals. All others are forbidden to read them! They wouldn’t understand them if they did.

So come out into the woods with me, and let us listen and watch, and I promise you it will be worth while.

CONTENTS

BUSTER THE BIG BROWN BEAR

STORY I
When Buster Was a Cub

In the North Woods where Buster was born, a wide river tinkles merrily over stones that are so white you’d mistake them for snowballs, if you were not careful, and begin pelting each other with them. The birches hanging over the water look like white sticks of peppermint candy, except in the spring of the year when they blossom out in green leaves, and then they make you think of fairyland where everything is painted the colors of the rainbow.

The rocks that slope up from the bank of the river are dented and broken as if some giant in the past had smashed them with his hammer, cracking some and punching deep holes in others. It was in one of these holes, or caves, that Buster was born.

He didn’t mind the hard rocky floor of his bed a bit, nor did he mind the darkness, nor the cold winds that swept through the open doorway. He was so well protected by his thick, furry coat that he didn’t need a soft bed on which to take his nap. A big stone made a nice pillow for his head, and he rather liked the hard floor for a bed when he curled up to go to sleep.

Buster was an only child. He didn’t know what a brother or sister was like, and so he didn’t miss either. He had his mother, who was good enough for him, and when he was old enough to crawl out on the rocks in front of his home he would spend hours and hours there playing with her in the bright sunshine.

Sometimes Mother Bear had to leave him while she went off in the woods to get something to eat. At such times she made Buster stay in the cave.

“You mustn’t show yourself on the rock, Buster,” she cautioned, “until you hear me call you. I won’t be gone long.”

Buster was a dutiful little cub, and he accepted his mother’s commands without asking why or wherefore. Perhaps that was because he was too young to understand, or because his mother was very strict with her only child. When he was very young, so young that he could hardly see at all, his mother used to tell him what to do and then gently but firmly make him do it, using her big hairy paws to enforce obedience.

These early lessons were never forgotten, and Buster got in the habit of minding his mother just as naturally as a tree grows straight when trained upright to a stake. But Buster grew curious as he got older, and one day when his mother was going away he asked: “Why can’t I play in front until you come back?”

“Because,” replied Mother Bear, “Loup the Lynx might come along and eat you up.”

“Who is Loup the Lynx?” asked Buster, turning very pale, for he had a wholesome dread of being eaten up.

“Never mind, dear. You stay inside until I come back.”

That was a mighty argument of Mother Bear’s to make her child obey. He was so afraid of Loup the Lynx that he never dared to poke his nose out of the cave when his mother was away. And sometimes the temptation to do it was very strong, for as he grew bigger and stronger the sunshine had a great fascination for him. Nothing in the world seemed pleasanter than to roll around on the rocks outside, blinking at the warm sun, and smelling the odors of the sweet flowers. It was springtime then, and the woods were full of the song of birds and the drone of busy insects. It made one wish to be outdoors all the time.

“You must be careful today, Buster,” his mother said to him one morning, “and stay inside the cave. I heard Loup the Lynx hunting around here last night. I don’t like him. He’s a rough, brutal fellow, and nearly always up to some mischief. I hate to leave you a minute today. But I must.”

Buster kept his promise, and remained inside all the morning, playing with his tail and the few leaves the wind blew in the cave. Toward noon, however, he got tired of this, and also very hungry. When a bear is hungry, he becomes very bold and will do things that would never occur to him at other times.

Buster sniffed in all the corners of the cave for a bite of something good to eat, but there was nothing more digestible than rocks and stones. Then he crept nearer the entrance, venturing a little closer every moment.

A streak of sunlight played on the rocks in front of him, and it so fascinated him that he began trying to catch it with his little paws. He had it, then lost it, and then sprang for it again. But the sunlight danced around, and never stayed caught.

In the midst of this game of tag with the sunlight, Buster heard a noise outside. It sounded like some animal scuffing heavily over the rocks, and the little fellow was so sure it was his mother that he ran out to greet her.

But what a surprise met him! Instead of Mother Bear there stood Loup the Lynx, crouching and sniffing, with his long tail swishing back and forth making a noise like a nutmeg grater.

Buster had never seen Loup the Lynx before, but nobody had to tell him now. He recognized him instantly. His first thought was to run back in the dark cave. Loup had a great dread of being caught in the cave by Mother Bear. If he had to fight with a full grown bear he preferred to be out in the open where he could spring in a tree if knocked over by a big paw. So he resorted to cunning to induce Buster to come out further.

“Don’t be afraid, Buster,” he said pleasantly. “I’m not going to hurt you. Your mother was delayed in the woods, and she sent me here to watch the mouth of the cave so no harm would come to you.”

Buster was surprised at this information, and he stopped to look at Loup. He didn’t like his face, but if his mother sent him it must be all right.

“I was watching you playing with that sun-beam,” Loup continued, lying down with his two paws in front of him. “I used to do that when I was young, but I’m too old now. I can’t jump around as I used to. Now let me see if you can catch the sun-beam.”

Buster was less afraid than ever, and he wanted to show Loup how spry he was. “I can catch it if I want to,” he said boastfully.

“I don’t believe you can. Now let’s see you do it. If you do I’ll tell your mother when she returns what a spry youngster you are.”

Buster, swelling with pride and ambition, made a dart for the flickering sun-beam. At the same time Loup leaped into the air, and landed right at the mouth of the cave, with Buster on the outside. He was cut off from retreat, and Loup leered so cruelly at him that a spasm of fear ran down his spine. He wished now that he hadn’t disobeyed his mother, but it was too late, and he set up a little cry of terror.

What Loup the Lynx did to him, and how Buster escaped to plunge into more adventures, will be told in the next story.

STORY II
Buster and Loup

It was a dreadful position for a little rolly polly bear to be in, with Loup the Lynx facing him, and his mother away in the woods where she couldn’t hear his cries. Loup was so sure of his prize that he let him squeal and cry for some time. It rather amused him.

“What a little howling brat you are!” Loup said finally. “Stop that squealing or I’ll make you.”

Buster was as much frightened by the tone of the voice as by the words, and almost instantly stopped calling for his mother. He was a very young bear—a mere cub—and you could not blame him for crying for help. Besides he had never been outside of the cave alone before, and right down in his heart he knew that his disobedience of his mother’s commands had got him into trouble.

“I’ll stop,” he said, “if you’ll please move away from that doorway and let me go inside. Mother told me not to come out of the cave when she was away.”

“Oh, she did!” sneered Loup. “Then you’ve been a bad, wicked cub, and you deserve to be punished. I think I’ll teach you a lesson.”

“Please don’t, Mr. Loup,” pleaded Buster, who much preferred to be punished by his mother than this wicked looking animal. “One punishment will be enough, and I know mother will attend to that.”

Loup laughed and swished his short tail as if he wished it were longer so he might use it as a whip to punish Buster with.

“No, I’ll punish you too,” he added. “You deserve it. Do you know how I punish cubs that disobey their mothers?”

Buster didn’t know, and wasn’t particularly anxious to find out. His one desire was to get back of Loup and escape in the cave where he might be able to hide until his mother returned. If he could only get Loup away from the front of the cave, he might run in it.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” Loup added. “I take them by the scruff of the neck, and shake them until they haven’t breath enough to squeal.”

He grabbed a stone in his jaws and shook it back and forth just to show how he would do it. The sight made Buster feel faint.

“And then,” went on Loup, “I give them a pat on the back with my paw like this.”

Loup raised a paw and brought it down on the rock so hard that it made Buster jump a foot in the air. The blow was so powerful that it seemed for a moment as if it would crack the rocks. Loup laughed joyfully at Buster’s fright.

“Now that I’ve shown you what I intend to do with you,” Loup continued, “you’ll be prepared. Well, I’m coming now to punish you.”

Buster backed away to the edge of the rock.

“And when I’ve cuffed your ears, and shaken out your teeth,” Loup threatened, “I’m going to eat you. Oh, yes, a young cub makes delicious eating. I’ll fill my stomach with you.”

For the first time Buster showed a little spirit of defiance. Standing up on his two hind legs, he said, wagging his head: “No you won’t, Mr. Loup, for my mother will kill you first. She’s bigger than you, and she can strike harder than you. My, when she brings her big paw down it makes the rocks shake! If you touch me she’ll strike you on the head, and knock you in the river.”

“Huh!” snorted Loup angrily. The fact was he was afraid of Mother Bear, but he didn’t want Buster to know it, and he tried to make him think so by boasting. “If your mother should come near me, I’d knock her over. I could do it easily.”

Perhaps Buster wasn’t convinced by this boastful talk, or may be he heard something in the bushes that sounded like his mother’s familiar footsteps. At any rate, he turned suddenly, and clapped his paws.

“Now let me see you do it, Mr. Loup!” he cried. “Here comes mother! She won’t let you hurt me!”

The way Loup jumped and growled showed that his courage wasn’t so very great after all. He had no desire to meet Mother Bear, and the thought he had lost a delicious dinner by talking so long to Buster made him hungry. For a moment he hesitated. If he jumped on Buster and ran away with him, Mother Bear would be on his tracks immediately, and if he stayed he would be cornered in the cave. He decided to take the safest course.

“Well, if your mother’s coming, Buster,” he said in a changed voice, “it won’t be necessary for me to stay here with you any longer. You might tell her I kept guard over the cave while she was away.”

Buster was so surprised by these words that he turned to look at the Lynx. Loup smiled at him, and added: “Of course, you know this was all a joke. I didn’t intend to hurt you. I love little bear cubs. That’s why I came here to protect you. We’ll always be great friends, and when you grow up I’ll show you the ways of the woods.”

Buster in his innocence believed these soft words, and his feelings toward Loup took a sudden change. He wasn’t wise enough to follow up his advantage and let Loup go. Instead he said:

“Don’t go yet, Mr. Loup. I’m not sure mother is coming after all. The noise in the bushes was just a bird scratching for worms.”

Loup raised his ugly head and glanced around him. His ears were cocked up so that he could catch the faintest sound in the distance. Then a smile of satisfaction spread over his face. Turning to Buster he let out a roar that sounded like distant thunder rumbling in the sky. It made Buster jump nearly two feet in the air.

“So you were trying to deceive me!” he growled. “You lied to me! You said your mother was coming when she wasn’t. Then for that I’ll kill you and eat you up!”

Buster started to protest. “No, no, Mr. Loup, I didn’t lie to you,” he stammered.

But he couldn’t get any further. Loup had crouched for a spring. Buster saw his big, dark body coming through the air at him, and very naturally he ran away crying with fright. Loup seeing that he had missed him in his spring struck viciously with one paw, and just grazed Buster’s head. It was only a graze, but it drew blood, and made Buster whimper with pain.

There was one thing Buster wanted, and that was to get safely inside the cave, and the moment Loup sprang in the air he started for it. But Loup was a quick, powerful dodger, and before the cub could reach the entrance the Lynx had taken another long jump and landed directly in front of him.

Buster, to escape him, wheeled so suddenly that he rolled all over in a heap. The rock sloped down toward the water, and the cub rolled down it so fast that Loup was unable to catch him. It was the only thing that saved Buster’s life.

He had never been in the river, and he didn’t know whether he could swim or not, but he much preferred the water to Loup’s dripping jaws. So instead of trying to check his rolling he kicked out to make himself go faster.

Loup reached him just as he got at the edge of the rocks, and with one paw tried to crush his head and body; but again he missed him, and merely cut a deep gash in Buster’s shoulder. The next moment the cub splashed into the river, and went down, down, down until it seemed to him there was no bottom.

In the next story you will hear of how Buster was rescued from the river.

STORY III
How Buster Got Out of the River

Buster had never been in water over his head before, and you can imagine his feelings when it got in his eyes, mouth, ears and nose. He coughed and kicked, and made a great splutter, but after all it was more fright than real danger. He was such a fat little cub that he couldn’t sink to the bottom, and stay there.

Just when he thought his end had surely come, he bobbed up on the surface, and his head came out of the water. What a wonderful thing it was to inhale pure fresh air again! Buster had never realized how good it was until then! Of course he had always breathed all the air he wanted, and so having enough he didn’t know what it meant to be without it for even a few seconds. That’s the way with a lot of things we have in this world.

Buster inhaled the air in great gulps, filling his lungs until they swelled up like balloons, and then to his horror he felt himself sinking. The mere thought of going down in the water again terrified him. He let out a squeal of fear, and began splashing with all four paws.

That was the best thing he could do, for a bear can swim without any lessons if he must do it to save his life. But it was a laughable sight to Loup the Lynx watching from the shore. Buster’s swimming was clumsy and awkward.

“Ha! Ha!” laughed Loup gleefully. “Wag your tail, Buster, and maybe that will help you! Don’t sneeze now, or you’ll swallow all the water in the river. That’s right, keep going around in a circle.”

It was cruel of Loup to poke fun at him, and Buster thought so too, but he was so occupied in trying to keep his head above the surface he didn’t have time to answer.

“Come toward the shore, Buster, and I’ll help you,” Loup called finally, running down to the edge, and wading knee-deep in the river.

This was the first kindly offer of the Lynx, and once more Buster began to think Loup was not so wicked after all, but when he had made his way a few feet toward the shore he stopped. Why was Loup so anxious to save him? Of course, there was only one explanation to it. He wanted to eat him up.

Buster turned suddenly and splashed away from the bank. Much as he dreaded death by drowning, he preferred it to being eaten up by Loup.

“This way, Buster! This way!” called Loup, thinking that the cub had got turned around and didn’t know which way he was swimming.

Buster made no reply. He saw the opposite shore ahead. It was a long distance away, but he was going to swim for it. He began splashing harder than ever.

“I tell you to swim this way!” added Loup, growing suspicious and angry.

Buster continued to head in the opposite direction.

“If you don’t come this way,” angrily cried Loup, “I’ll come after you, and hold your head under the water until you’re dead.”

Buster more frightened than ever paddled desperately, and he was really making pretty good time. He was beginning to learn how to swim. The opposite bank was growing nearer every moment. To his surprise he found that his strength was not leaving him, and he could keep his head up better than before. There was a chance of escaping the Lynx.

“You little brat!” shrieked Loup, dancing around in the shallow water. “I’ll teach you to trick me!”

Loup was an excellent swimmer, but he didn’t like the water. He hated to get his soft fur wet, for it took a long time to dry it in the sun. He never took a swim unless forced to it either to catch his victim or to save his life.

But this was one of those occasions when he had to swim or lose his prey. Buster was surely escaping him. In a few more minutes he would be on the opposite shore where he could hide in the bushes until his mother returned.

“All right!” added Loup finally, making up his mind. “I’m coming for you!”

These words didn’t frighten Buster nearly so much as the terrible splash he heard a moment later behind him. It seemed as if the river rose a foot, and that big waves were dashing against the bank. Loup had run up a tree leaning over the edge of the river, and launched himself from it. When his body struck the water it made a loud noise.

Buster made a frantic effort to increase his speed, but once when he glanced over his shoulder he nearly lost heart. Loup was swimming with great powerful strokes which brought him closer every second. He didn’t splash and flounder around in the water as the cub did, but, with all except his ugly head and long tail under the surface, he moved forward with the least amount of friction. Loup swam as steadily and easily as a boat propelled by a screw.

Buster grew frantic with dread. He expected any moment to feel Loup’s powerful paw crushing down on his head, for right behind him he could hear the deep breathing of the Lynx. There was no hope—no escape!

“Thought you’d get away from me, Buster, didn’t you?” laughed Loup when within a few yards of the cub. “Ha! Ha! This is delicious sport! Now I’m going to duck you and half drown you, and then duck you again.”

“Oh, please, please—” gasped Buster, who was pretty well winded now. “Please let me go!”

For reply Loup laughed louder than ever. Then Buster thought of a trick. This time he made it up, for he had heard nothing in the bushes to make him think his mother was returning. But under the circumstances you can’t blame him for stretching the truth.

“Oh, Loup, there’s mother coming!” he cried. “I must go to her at once!”

Loup was not deceived this time. He took a cautious peep around him, and then splashed the water violently with his two front paws.

“You can’t deceive me that way the second time, Buster,” he said. “Your mother isn’t coming. I’m going to kill you, and then take you up on the bank and eat you.”

“But, Mr. Loup, I haven’t done anything to you. Won’t you let me go this time? I’ll promise to be your friend, and—”

“No!” roared the Lynx so loudly that the echo went ringing up and down the river.

He raised a great paw to grasp Buster, who to escape it dove under the water and disappeared for an instant; but he couldn’t stay there long, and when he reappeared there was the menacing paw raised to strike him.

Loup really liked to torture his victims. It wasn’t his nature to kill them outright. It gave him great pleasure to see them suffer. If he had struck at Buster at once, he might have killed him in one blow; but he didn’t, and that was what saved the little bear’s life. There was rescue at hand which neither one dreamed of.

There was a sudden splash in the water, and then a dull thud as something hard and heavy struck Loup on the nose. He jumped back with a scream of rage. At first he thought Buster had played a trick on him, but when another heavy thing hit him on the back of the head he knew differently.

From the shore there came excited cries. “Hit him again! Let me try him this time!”

Loup glanced that way, and understood instantly. Two men were standing on the shore pelting him with rocks. Two of them had hit him, and others were coming his way. There was no fight in Loup when caught in the water, and with a scream of rage he turned and swam for the opposite bank. He wasn’t going to risk the loss of his life for the sake of a good dinner.

The next story will tell how Buster met the men, and was carried away as a captive.

STORY IV
Buster is Carried Away by the Men

Buster was nearly as much surprised as Loup by the sudden appearance of the men, but he lacked the strength to turn and swim back to the other side of the river. Indeed, between fear and his hard struggle he was almost ready to give up and sink. He felt he couldn’t take many more strokes even to save his life.

At first he thought the rocks were being hurled at him, but as they followed Loup half way across the river, the men throwing them until the Lynx was out of reach, he concluded that maybe he was safer on that side with the men than on the other with his old enemy. This belief was strengthened when the men stopped bombarding the Lynx, and turned to Buster.

“It’s a young bear!” said one of the men.

“Sure! I told you so before. We must save him. Here, little fellow! Come here! We won’t hurt you!”

Buster looked at them with eyes that seemed ready to pop out of his head. He was so thankful that the men were not going to hurt him that he swam straight toward them. One ran out to meet him, and caught him in his arms.

“The poor little fellow’s hurt,” the man said, noticing the blood on Buster’s shoulder where Loup’s claw had caught him when he first tumbled in the river.

“I wish we had a gun to shoot that Lynx,” remarked the other. “I’ll come back and lay for him.”

The man holding Buster stroked his head and back, as he carried him up on dry land. “The poor little fellow’s tired out and half dead with fright,” he added.

“And hungry, too,” said the second man. “We must find him some warm milk. Got any in the camp?”

“Nothing but condensed milk.”

“Well, we’ll try him with that.”

They carried Buster up to their camp in the woods, and brought out a can of condensed milk. After warming some of this over the fire, they gave it to Buster.

Nothing ever tasted so good as that milk, for Buster was cold, tired and still trembling from fright and weakness. He didn’t know it until then, but he was dreadfully hungry, so hungry that he couldn’t stop until he had lapped up the last drop.

The two men watched him in silence, and then patted him on the back. “You were hungry, little chap, weren’t you?” remarked one. “Well, that’s enough for the present. We don’t want to make you sick.”

“Oh, give him a bit of this honey-comb for dessert. That won’t hurt him.”

And then to Buster’s delight, the man handed him something, the very odor of which sent the blood tingling through his veins. One taste of it, and Buster was in ecstasy. It was his first taste of honey, and the grunt of pleasure that escaped his lips sent the men into a roar of laughter.

“The little chap’s having the time of his life,” one laughed. “Like Oliver Twist he’ll be begging for more when that’s gone.” Of course, Buster didn’t know anything about Oliver Twist, but he did know that he could eat that delicious honey all day, and when the last drop was gone he did beg for more.

“Stand on your hind legs and ask for it, and I’ll give it to you,” said the man.

Buster didn’t know exactly what he meant, but it was much easier to reach up to the hand containing the honey when he stood on two legs, and he unconsciously obeyed.

“Now ask for it.”

Buster opened his mouth and snapped at it, but the hand was raised beyond his reach. Then, disappointed, he uttered a little cry of eagerness. To his surprise the man gave him the honey.

“That’s right,” he laughed. Then turning to his companion, he added: “I’m going to teach him tricks, Jim. You can teach a young cub almost anything if you begin early enough.”

All this was strange talk to Buster, but he had learned the first lesson of his new life—the trick of begging. After that when he wanted milk or honey or anything else, he stood up on his hind legs and grunted or cried for it. He found that he always got what he wanted in this way.

With his little stomach full of rich milk and sweet honey, Buster grew very sleepy, and when he curled up to rest one of his rescuers spread a warm blanket over him. In a few minutes he was lost in slumberland.

He stood on his hind legs and cried for it

When Buster awoke he had a queer sensation of being carried in a hammock or something equally soft and comfortable. It was so different from his hard bed on the rocks! His first thought was that it was all part of a dream, but remembering his experience with Loup the Lynx he shuddered, and set up a call for his mother. He was frightened, and whimpered so loudly that the man carrying him opened the blanket and peeked in.

“What is it, Buster?” he asked, addressing him by the very name his mother had always called him. “Hungry again?”

Buster was indeed hungry again, but he was also homesick and wanted his mother. He kept on whimpering when the man took him out of the blanket and patted him.

“Oh, give him something to eat, Bill, and stop his crying,” said the man’s companion.

So they stopped long enough to feed him again, and after that Buster felt less homesick, and, it must be confessed, forgot his mother. The men began playing with him, and Buster rolled over and gnawed at a stick for them until they roared with laughter.

“Do you know, Jim,” said one of his captors, “we’ve got a rich prize in that cub. He’s the most intelligent little chap I ever saw. I wonder where he came from.”

“Probably his mother was killed, and that Lynx knew it, and was trying to make a dinner off him.”

“I’d like to get a crack at that lynx some day.”

“So would I. But I’m mighty glad we saved the cub. He’ll make a fine pet. He’s as playful as a dog.”

Buster was a little startled to hear that his mother had probably been killed. That would account for her not returning to the cave when he called her. Had Loup killed her? No, Buster didn’t think so, for his mother was big and powerful, and could easily knock a lynx over with one blow from her paw. Then who was her murderer, or wasn’t she dead?

These questions were too hard for Buster to answer, and he soon stopped trying to think of them. Meanwhile, he was safe and well fed, and his two captors liked him. Why should he worry about something that couldn’t be helped?

At night time the men came to a cabin near the edge of the woods, and Buster was given a warm blanket in one corner of it. He watched them cook their evening meal, and ate whatever they fed him. The bacon sizzling in the frying pan smelt so good that Buster poked his nose in it, and then drew back with a howl of pain. It burnt his little nose and brought the tears to his eyes.

“Let that be a lesson, Buster, not to poke your nose in things that don’t belong to you,” laughed one of the men. Then he handed him a piece of bacon well cooked, and not too hot. Buster swallowed it in one gulp.

“What are you going to do with the little fellow, Jim?” suddenly asked one of the men. “You know we can’t keep him in the city.”

“I’ve thought of that,” replied the other slowly. “The only thing we can do is to sell him. He ought to be worth something.”

This was the first hint to Buster that he wasn’t always going to live with his captors, and it made him very sad. When bears were sold, what became of them? Buster didn’t know, and he went to sleep very troubled. But he wasn’t sold after all, and in the next story you will hear how he was stolen.

STORY V
How Buster Was Stolen

Buster remained three whole days in the camp with the two men who had saved him from Loup the Lynx, and during that time he learned many things that his mother had never taught him. For one thing he learned manners.

One day he stuck his nose in the pot of soup on the table and began licking it up until a hand grasped him by the neck, and jerked him back. “Buster, you’ve got to learn your manners, and the time to begin is when you’re young,” said the man who held him. “Now I must punish you so you’ll never stick your nose in the soup again without remembering it.”

With that two sharp blows from a small stick landed on Buster’s nose. He yelped with pain, and tried to run away, but his captor held him. “The next time you will get three blows instead of two,” he added gravely. Buster never repeated the offence.

For another thing he learned it paid to be obliging. When the men asked him to jump over a stick or dance on his hind legs, he received a double lump of sugar if he promptly obeyed. A little extra dance, or a new kind of trick, always brought something to reward him. Buster was shrewd enough to connect the two together—the trick and the reward.

But there was one thing he hadn’t learned, and it got him in trouble again just as it did that day when he disobeyed his mother in leaving the cave when she was away. The men had to go away for a few hours, and they shut Buster up in the cabin, with the remark:

“You stay in here, Buster, and watch the camp. We’ll be back soon.”

“Better close that window, Jim,” remarked the other. “He might climb up to it and get out.”

“No, it will be too hot in here. Besides, I think we can trust Buster. He won’t try to get out.”

Of course, when they left Buster had no intention of disobeying. He was satisfied to curl up in a corner of the cabin and sleep until they returned; but they were gone for a long time, and late in the afternoon he got very restless.

“I’ll climb up there and look out,” he said to himself, glancing up at the window. “They didn’t tell me not to do that.”

To reach the window he had to climb up on the stout table, and jump from that to the broad window-sill. This feat wasn’t so difficult, for Buster had learned to use his claws with great skill in climbing. The jump to the window-sill was a short one, but he nearly missed it, and had to scramble desperately to prevent a fall.

Once on the window-sill, however, he was well repaid for his trouble. It was a beautiful day outside, and the woods smelt so sweet and attractive that Buster felt a strange longing to get out there and roll around among the leaves. But he wasn’t going to do it. No, he remembered the words of his captors, and while he had made no promise he intended to obey them.

Just the same when Groundy the Woodchuck came along and cast a long shadow in front of the window, Buster leaned so far out that he nearly lost his balance. Groundy glanced up, and at first was startled and ready to run; but when he saw that Buster was no more than a cub, only a little larger than himself, he stopped and spoke to him.

“What are you doing up there?” he asked. “You don’t live in that house, do you? If you don’t look out the owners will come along and catch you.”

“They’ve caught me already,” replied Buster. “That’s why I’m here, Groundy.”

“Oh, then you’re a prisoner!” sighed Groundy. “I’m sorry for you. Are you tied by a chain?”

“Indeed, I’m not! They don’t chain me up. I’m not a prisoner, either.”

Groundy looked at him in silence, not quite able to understand. Buster was grinning at him as if he enjoyed his perplexity. Finally, Groundy said:

“I can’t believe you, Buster. But there’s one way to show me. If you’re not a prisoner, tied by a chain, climb down here. Then I’ll believe you.”

“I can’t—” began Buster, and then stopped. Of course, if he said that Groundy would go away convinced that he was actually chained inside the window.

“I thought so,” nodded Groundy. “Well, I’m sorry for you. I must be going now.”

“Wait a minute!” called Buster. “I’ll climb down just to show you, but I can’t stay.”

It really wouldn’t do any harm, he thought, to climb down and right back again to show Groundy that he was free. He would do it so quickly that he would be back in the cabin again before any one saw him. Groundy was waiting for him, and Buster couldn’t disappoint him now.

He dropped easily to the ground under the window, and cried: “How was that for a jump, Groundy! You couldn’t do better, could you?”

“No, but the thing that puzzles me is, how are you going to get back again? Anybody can jump down a hill, but not many can jump up it. Can you jump back to the window-sill?”

Buster had not given much thought to this. He looked up, and the window was so high above his head he knew that he could never jump half the way.

“I don’t know,” he stammered. “But maybe I can climb back. I’ve got good claws, and I can climb a tree.”

“That may be, Buster, but you can’t climb the side of a house,” replied Groundy. “If you can I’ll watch you.”

Groundy squatted down, and Buster anxious to show how well he could climb started to go up the side of the house; but a bear hugs a tree when climbing it, and Buster couldn’t get his paws around the cabin any more than he could fly to the moon. He made several attempts to dig his claws in the logs to pull himself up, but each time he tumbled back to the ground before he could reach half way. But he wasn’t going to give up trying right away, and again and again he made the attempt until completely exhausted.

“You can’t do it, Buster,” remarked Groundy finally, rising to his feet. “I knew you couldn’t. It’s easier to roll down a hill than roll up it.”

Buster was greatly disappointed, and he looked around to find something that he could roll under the window and climb up that way; but a noise in the woods suddenly startled Groundy.

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered. “I must be going. Better come with me, Buster.”

“No,” was the reply. “I live here now, and I won’t run away just because I disobeyed and got in trouble.”

Perhaps it would have been better for him had he accepted Groundy’s invitation; but he didn’t know that, and it was to his credit that he stayed. He knew that he had done wrong in climbing out of the window, but two wrongs don’t make a right, and Buster decided that he would face his masters and let them punish him if they wanted to.

But he received a severe shock the next minute. A stranger appeared around the side of the cabin, and another on the other side. They were not pleasant looking. They were very unlike the two men who had rescued him from the river.

“Head him off!” shouted one. “Don’t let him get away!”

Buster was too surprised and frightened to run, and before he knew it he was caught by four stout arms and something thick and blinding was thrown over his head. He grunted and squealed, but nobody seemed to hear him. He was picked up and carried swiftly away in the woods and for a long time he was jounced and pounded about in a thick blanket that completely covered him.

When he finally got a peek of daylight again, he was in a strange place, with two evil-looking faces bending over him. In the next story you will hear about Buster’s new masters.

STORY VI
Buster’s Cruel Masters

Buster was so enraged at the treatment he had received that the moment one of the men touched him he growled and snapped at the hand. He had nearly suffocated in the blanket, and all the way through the woods he had been bounced and jounced around cruelly. His captors had seemed to take delight in tormenting him.

So you cannot exactly blame him for being very angry when one of the men poked him in the ribs with a hand. The hand was quickly withdrawn the moment Buster snapped at it.

“The little beast,” snarled the owner of the hand. “I’ll teach him to bite!”

Before Buster knew what was coming, he was slapped over the head with a stout stick. It stunned him for a moment, and he lay very quiet. But when he got back his senses, he showed his teeth again and sprang for the man.

This time he was knocked over and kicked about the room until he ached in every bone. His two captors came for him with short, stout sticks, which they used freely. Again and again Buster sprang at them, and tried to bite them, but each time he was knocked down.

You see, Buster was only a cub, and he was no match for two full grown men, but he had the spirit of his wild ancestors in him, and he fought until he was hardly able to stand up. Then he dropped down sullen and resentful, beaten into silence, but with his spirit still flaming with anger.

From that day began a new life for Buster. He was no longer treated kindly and coaxed to do tricks. Every time he failed to do what his captors demanded of him he was kicked and cuffed about, and when he obeyed them he was not rewarded by any sugar or honey.

Indeed, he never tasted either of these sweet things. What he had to eat were scraps of bread or meat which the men threw to him after they had eaten all they wanted. Instead of having the freedom of a cabin, he was kept chained up in a small, dark hut.

And what a hut it was! It was dirty and smelly, with scarcely any sun or daylight in it. At night time the men lighted a dirty old lamp or a smelly candle which spluttered and dripped without giving much light. His bed was the bare, hard floor, with nothing for a covering except a few whisps of straw.

Buster rebelled at all this treatment. He couldn’t get used to it. The men never spoke a kind word to him, nor ever patted him on the back in a friendly way. They whipped him for the slightest thing, and made him so afraid of them that finally he ran whenever one of them approached.

But even this wasn’t the worst of his captivity. In a short time his captors began to teach him to dance and do tricks, but not in the gentle way his former friends did. They put a muzzle on his nose so he could not bite any one, and tied a chain to his neck. Then with a long pole, one end of which was sharpened, they prodded him into dancing. If he didn’t dance fast enough to suit them they jabbed him with the sharp pole, and sometimes when he was so tired he could hardly stand they made him stand on his head and turn a somersault.

As a reward for all this Buster was given a few dry crusts of bread and a drink of water, but never any honey or sugar. At night time, sore and tired, he would curl up in the corner of his room, and think of the past. With tears in his eyes, he thought of his happy home in the cave, of his mother who was so kind to him, of Loup the Lynx, and of the two men who had saved him from the river, and fed him with rich milk and sugar and honey.

Oh, how he wished he was back with them or at home in the cave with his mother! But wishing wouldn’t help him, and after a while he began planning a way to escape. He decided to be good, and obey his cruel masters, but the first chance he had he would run away from them.

After that Buster became a model bear. He tried to please his masters, not because he liked them, but because he was waiting for the chance to run away. He was really a very bright bear, and within a couple of months he could do many tricks and stunts. He was given a tin cup, which he was taught to hold out to people, and when pennies were placed in it he bowed and carried them to the man with the pole.

One day he was taken out on the streets, and was led along until they came to some children playing. One of his masters played a wheezy old organ, while the other shook the chain and told Buster to dance.

Now dancing out in the fresh air, with children watching him and clapping their hands, was very much pleasanter than in his dirty room, and Buster enjoyed it. He danced as he never did before, and when the man holding the chain told him to stand on his head and turn a somersault he obeyed promptly.

There was a clapping of hands, and a shout of pleasure came from all sides. Buster got to his feet, bowed, and repeated the performance. Then a little girl, holding the hand of a gentleman, approached Buster and handed him a stick of candy.

It was time for him to pass the tin cup for pennies, but Buster was so pleased with the little girl’s attention, and so hungry for something sweet, that he forgot his duties and took the candy. But before he could put it in his mouth the man with the chain jerked him back and prodded him with the sharp pole.

Buster grunted with pain and hurriedly picked up the tin cup. A shout of anger went up from the crowd, and the gentleman holding the little girl’s hand spoke sharply to Buster’s master. Then he picked up the stick of candy and handed it to Buster, who took it and tucked it in his mouth. How sweet and delicious it tasted! It made him think of the days when he was kept in the cabin with the two campers who had rescued him from the river.

Once more there came a jerk on the chain, and the pole prodded him in the side. He had forgotten to pass the tin cup for pennies. The candy had made him forget his duties.

Now it was not Buster’s fault that the crowd didn’t fill his cup with pennies. Indeed, it was because they knew the money was to go to the two men and not to Buster that the people refused to pay.

“They don’t deserve anything!” somebody said. “They’re cruel to the poor creature! Don’t give them anything!”

Buster made a complete circle of the double row of men, women and children, but not a penny was dropped in his cup. When he returned, finally, and handed the empty cup to his master he was greeted by an angry cuff. There was an angry growl from the people, and the men fearing trouble led Buster away, jerking him hard with the chain.

But that wasn’t the last of his punishment. That night when he got home Buster was sent to bed without even his crust of bread. The men were angry because he hadn’t collected many pennies for them, and like many other people in this world they laid all the blame of their failure upon another. Buster was the scape-goat.

In the middle of the night, Buster thought of the little girl who had given him the stick of candy, and groaning with pain and hunger he made up his mind to run away very soon and find the girl if he had to travel half around the world. She would at least be kind to him, and that was all he wanted. On the very morrow he would plan a way to get out of the hut and begin his search for the girl with brown eyes and dimples in her cheek.

Buster gets away in the next story, but he joined a circus instead of finding the little girl who had been kind to him.

STORY VII
Buster Makes His Escape

Buster had been growing rapidly all this time, and instead of being a little cub he was nearly as tall as his mother and as broad as a Newfoundland dog. A few months had made a tremendous difference in his size and strength.

But he was hardly aware of this change. He still thought of himself as a little bear, but had Loup the Lynx seen him now it is doubtful if he would have been so free to attack him. Loup had a wholesome respect for a full grown bear. It was only the young cubs that he liked to tackle and eat.

But if Buster wasn’t aware of his growing size and strength his two captors were. That was why they kept him chained up at night and always carried a long pointed pole when they took him out on the street. They were afraid that some day Buster would realize his strength, and then all would be up with their control of him.

The day came, however, when Buster suddenly found that his muscles were powerful and his strength greater than that of his masters. They had been traveling all day from one small town to another, gathering in a few pennies here and there, and resting by the way-side whenever opportunity offered. It was a hot day, and the road was dusty and rough.

When they came to a small brook the sight of the cool, sweet water brought to Buster’s mind pictures of the broad river that ran in front of the cave where he was born. A great desire to plunge in the stream and wallow in the cool water seized him. With this idea in mind he quickened his pace, and started down the embankment.

A sudden jerk of the chain around his neck brought him to his senses, but with an angry toss of the head he continued on, dragging the man behind him. In vain the man tugged at the chain, shouting to his companion, who came up and began prodding Buster with the sharp end of the long pole.

But Buster wanted to get in the brook. Nothing in all his life had ever appealed so much to him. The dust and dirt in his mouth, ears and nose irritated him. Instead of stopping he slapped at the pole and continued on his way.

Then something happened that aroused him to fury. The man gave him such a vicious jab with the sharpened pole that it made him grunt and squeal. Heretofore such cruel treatment had always cowered Buster, but it had an opposite effect on him now. It aroused his fury.

With a quick, lightening-like stroke he grasped the pole in his two paws, and before either of his captors could recover from their surprise he snapped it in two. It was all done so quickly that even Buster was surprised.

Seeing the instrument of his torture lying broken on the ground, Buster smiled, and leered at the men. Something in their eyes attracted his attention. It was fear! Buster read it as clearly as if it had been printed there in large letters.

His captors were afraid of him! They had lost their pointed pole, and thus disarmed they were no longer able to torment. Buster was the master of the situation. A great feeling of exultation swelled up in him. His eyes gleamed and flashed.

Then with a roar he turned on the one holding the chain and struck savagely at him. What happened filled Buster with glee. The man dropped the chain and fled with cries of fright. Buster pursued a few yards, and then sat down on his haunches and laughed.

“Ho! Ho! They’re afraid of me!” he said. “I won’t have to be their slave any more! All I’ve got to do is to growl at them, and strike them!”

He got up and strutted around. He was a free bear once more. Never more would he be a captive. He waddled down to the brook and plunged into the cool water. He washed and drank and gurgled to his heart’s content. Once or twice his captors approached, and tried to coax him out, but he turned on them with a snarl and made them run away again.

Then they disappeared entirely, and Buster was left alone to enjoy his bath. But his freedom wasn’t to last for long, although he didn’t know it at the time.

Now as it happened there was a circus in the town a few miles back, and his two masters who cared more about the money value of Buster than anything else, decided that it was a good chance to make a bargain. They knew that they would never be able to control their half-grown bear once he had discovered his strength and power. He was henceforth useless for their work.

But a circus was different. Buster would be valuable in the circus either as a trick animal or as a dangerous man-eating creature that had to be kept caged all the time. People would pay money to view a bear that no man could tame. Of course, Buster was no such wild animal, and he had no intention of killing any one, but the fact that he had broken away from captivity and refused to be captured again furnished the foundation for a story that he was a wild, desperate animal that could not be tamed.

Buster was lying on the grass near the brook, enjoying a quiet snooze, when he was startled by the appearance of half a dozen men armed with sticks and pitchforks. He raised his head and looked mildly at them. Behind walked the two men who had cruelly tormented him.

“There he is!” shouted one. “Look out for him, or he’ll jump on you!”

Buster growled when he heard that familiar voice, and rose on his two hind legs to face the approaching crowd. Some of them stopped and refused to go any further; but two or three approached warily. They were armed with clubs and pitchforks, but one of them carried a long rope looped over an arm. Buster didn’t know what this was for, and he turned his attention to the men with the clubs.

He growled and stepped toward them. They retreated a few steps—all except the man with the rope. He seemed cool and unafraid. Buster eyed him curiously when he raised an arm and twirled the rope over his head. He even watched the rope circle in the air and come toward him.

It was not until the rope looped over his head and settled on his shoulders that he understood; but it was too late then. The man jerked it, and Buster felt something around his neck that choked him almost to death. He tore at it with his paws, but before he could rip it off another from behind caught him.

Buster fought fiercely for a few moments, but when the men armed with pointed sticks and clubs ran in and began prodding him sharply every time he tore at the rope he began to grow afraid again. He was no match for all these men, especially when his neck was being squeezed so that he could barely draw a decent breath.

When he quieted down, the men stopped prodding him, and Buster soon found that it didn’t pay to fight against such heavy odds. Only when his former captors came near him did he growl and show signs of anger.

Buster was led back a few miles and placed in a cage with iron bars. There was plenty of food and water in the cage, and he was glad to get inside with the ropes off his neck. Buster had joined the circus!

But would his new life be happier than the old? Had he jumped from the frying-pan into the fire, or were there days ahead when he could enjoy life once more without the fear of being beaten for every little mistake? He didn’t know, but he slept soundly and peacefully that night even if he was a prisoner in an iron cage.

What happened to him in the circus will form part of the next story, called Buster’s First Public Appearance.

STORY VIII
Buster’s First Public Appearance

The cage in which Buster was kept was rather small, but it was clean and fresh, with plenty of straw on the bottom, and a blanket stretched on one side to shield him from the draft. There were other cages in the place, and after the first night he began to get acquainted with their occupants.

On his right there was an old Lion, who had lost most of his teeth and much of his hair. He snored so loudly the first night that Buster was twice awakened by what he thought was the roll of thunder. When morning dawned he asked the Old Lion if he always snored like that.

“Yes, when I’m asleep, but when I’m awake I snore like this.”

To Buster’s surprise he opened his mouth and let out a roar that shook the whole place and started every animal crying and snarling. Spot the Leopard, who was caged on Buster’s left, growled and spit ferociously as he sprang from one side of his cage to the other. But the Old Lion sat back on his haunches and roared with laughter.

“What did you do that for?” asked Buster, when the wild commotion began to subside.

“Just to show you how I snore in the day time,” was the retort. “You want to hear it again?”

“No, thank you, once is enough.”

“Well, if you say so, I won’t,” replied the Old Lion. “But after you’ve been here a long time you’ll be glad to hear me roar. It breaks up the monotony. There’s nothing else to do, you know, and it gets dreadfully tiresome doing nothing. Heigh-o! it’s a dull life!”

He yawned and stretched himself. Spot the Leopard on the other side stopped his snarling, and glanced between his bars at Buster. He was interested in this new-comer, and he continued to stare so long that Buster finally smiled back at him and nodded his head.

“How did they catch you?” Spot asked suddenly.

“With a rope,” replied Buster. “I wasn’t expecting it, and they dropped it over my head before I could run.”

Spot spit and snarled again to show his temper. “They caught me when I was a cub,” he said. “They wouldn’t have caught me if I was full grown. They’re afraid of me now. Every time my trainer comes in I snarl and snap at her. She snaps the whip in my face, and I pretend to be afraid of it. But I’m not! I’m just waiting my chance. Some day I’ll pounce on her, and then—”