“Well,” began Bill, putting his hand to his forehead, “I remember I went to the wood-pile and as I was pickin’ up an armful o’ wood I heard something back of me go woof! woof! I said ’woof, woof yourself’ and lookin’ ’round I saw this here ornery bear standin’ back o’ me with his dooks up and ready for a fight. I drops the wood and lets out an orful holler for you to bring a gun but you musta gone to sleep on the stove for you didn’t show up.
“Then this here ornery bear makes a reach for me jaw and me and him had a sprintin’ match ’round the wood-pile. Finally he catches up with me and lands a gentle little tap on me jaw with his tremendous right hand and it sent me sprawling. Afore I could get up he was on top o’ me and I thought I was goin’ to be like the hero o’ that rime for little kids which runs:
‘Algy met a bear;
The bear was bulgy
And the bulge was Algy.’
“I had left me six-gun here in the cabin and I had just sense enough left to grabs me huntin’ knife when I stabbed him every chanst I got.
“We rolls over and over until after a while he and me couldn’t roll over any more and then you comes.”
“Yes, you drove that knife into him fifty-six times by actual count,” said Jack admiringly.
“One more stab and there’d have been enough for an advertisement for a pickle factory,” replied Bill.
“You certainly did put him out of commission all right. It must have been a great fight. I tell you I’d like to have seen it,” allowed Jack with enthusiasm.