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 space 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.
"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 nobly, too, at times, Bosephus—very nobly, indeed."
"Are you sure you have reformed, Horatio?"
Horatio swung the violin to his shoulder and drew the bow across the strings. Then he sang softly:—
"Oh, there's some folks say a nigger won't steal,
But I caught one in my corn-fiel'.
And there's other folks say that a Bear will tame,
But I wouldn't trust him with my——"
he hesitated, and then, with a final flourish,
"with my money all the same."
The little boy laughed. The Bear seemed to have forgotten the cruel Italian and was in his usual good humor.
"I think I can trust you, Horatio; I'm not a bit afraid of you."
"Bo," said Ratio, speaking suddenly, "speaking of Christmas trees, we ought to have one. I saw a beautiful one up the stream yonder. I think I'll go and get it, if you'll look after the supper while I'm gone."
"Why, yes, Horatio, only don't be long about it."
Horatio struck the violin with a long vigorous sweep.
"Oh, we'll have a tree for Christmas in this Louisiana isthmus,
Where the orange trees are waving and the jasmines are in bloom;
And I'll have a Christmas dinner, if I don't I am a sinner,
And I'll eat it if it sends me to my doom—doom—doom."
Bo laughed again. He had never seen Horatio in a better humor.
"If you eat too much pie it may send you to your doom—doom—doom," he said. "Hurry back, now, with that tree. You can pull it up by the roots and we'll plant it again here. Then it will keep right on growing."
The bear set out up the stream and the boy busied himself with building a fire and taking out of a sack a lot of food that had been given them by the planters during the afternoon. He spread this on the leaves and moss and then sat down and gazed into the bright blaze. It was pleasant and warm and he was quite tired. After a while he wondered sleepily why the Bear didn't come back, and concluded he was having a hard time pulling up the tree. Then he began thinking of all the adventures they had had together and of the little cub bear and the cruel Italian.
"I was tempted to let Horatio at him," he thought. "A man like that should be beaten until he couldn't stand. That poor little creature! How wistfully he looked at us. He kept whining—perhaps he was telling Ratio something."
The little boy's head nodded forward now and then and presently he slept. He slept soundly and the moments flew by unheeded. He was having a long dream about old man Todd and the girls and the two candy hearts, when suddenly there arose close at hand such a commotion, such a mingling of excited language, fierce snarls and crashing of brush that the little boy leaped to his feet wildly.
"Ratio!" he shouted. "Ratio! where are you?"
The only answer was the redoubled fury of the furious uproar, which Bo now located at the edge of the road but a few feet away. He tore through the brush hastily in that direction. As he reached the spot the turmoil ceased and he heard the sound of running feet. Dashing through into the road he beheld a strange sight. A half-naked man was disappearing over the hill just beyond, and Horatio, holding some rags of clothing in one hand and the paw of the little bear in the other, was looking after him hungrily, as if about to pursue. Before him lay the Christmas tree badly broken and bruised.
"Ratio!" exclaimed Bo. "What have you been doing?"
The Bear looked at Bo sheepishly.
"I went for the Christmas tree," he said, meekly, "and just as I was coming back the Italian man came along, and he was beating this little chap, and so I tried the Christmas tree on him to see how he liked it. Then we got into an argument, and when he went away he left the cub with us and didn't take all of his clothing."
The little boy reflected a moment.
"I hope, Horatio," he said, gravely, "you did not mean to break your agreement about, you know—about dinners."
"I didn't, Bo; honest, I didn't. I wouldn't touch that fellow if I was starving. But I did pretty nearly break his neck, Bo, and I'm glad of it!"
GOING BACK TO ARKANSAW.
"Ratio," said Bo, solemnly, "it's very wrong, I suppose; very wrong, indeed; but I'm glad, too. Only we've got to postpone that Christmas dinner. That fellow will be back here to-night with officers, and we've had all the law we want. We start for Arkansaw in five minutes. A bite of supper and then right about! ready! march!"
And this was the reason Horatio and Bosephus and the little cub bear were travelling swiftly northward in spite of the winter weather that was not yet over. The cub was small and weak and Horatio, who loved him and sometimes called him "little brother," often carried him. They gave no performances, but only pushed forward, mile after mile, chanting solemnly:—
"Going back to Arkansaw as fast as we can go—
Never mind the winter time and 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."
HORATIO WAS LOOKING AT HIM HUNGRILY.