"Don't mention it," laughed Van Sant.
Then we all laughed. That was better. There isn't much that can be said, when you feel a whole lot. But you know, just the same. And we all were Scouts.
Somehow, the big limp body of the old mother bear now made us sober. We hadn't intended to kill her, and of course she was only protecting her cubs. It wasn't our mountain; and it wasn't our berry-patch. She had discovered it first. We had intruded on her, not she on us. It all was a misunderstanding.
So we didn't gloat over her, or kick her, or sit upon her, now that she could not defend herself. But we must do some quick thinking.
"Kit Carson, you and Bridger catch Apache," ordered Major Henry. "Fitz and I will help Scout Van Sant skin his bear."
"She's not my bear," said Scout Van Sant. "I won't take her. She belongs to all of us."
"Well," continued Major Henry, "it's a pity just to let her lie and to waste her. We can use the meat."
"The pelt's no good, is it?" asked Fitz.
"Not much, in the summer. But we'll take it off, and put the meat in it, to carry."
They set to work. Kit Carson and I started after the burro. He had run off, up the mountain again, and we couldn't catch him. He was too nervous. We'd get close to him, and with a snort and a toss of his ears he would jump away and fool us. That was very aggravating.