The hibernating or marvellous winter sleep of bears is doubtless well known to all. A large bear crawled out one April from under a bridge of logs in the Upsalquitch district over which timber had been hauled noisily all winter without arousing him from his long, deep sleep.
Bruin plays queer antics. A bear broke into a lumber camp, turned the tap of the molasses barrel, rolled over and over in the sticky syrup, broke open a flour barrel with one stroke of the paw and then rolled about in the flour until he looked like a polar bear.
An Indian without a gun was once chased by an infuriated she-bear, whose cub he had stolen. His only refuge was a hollow tree, down which he lowered himself with the cub. The old bear descended bear fashion, tail first. The Indian seized her by the stumpy tail, whereupon he was drawn to the top, and giving the bear a thrust off on top of the stump, master of the situation.
A bear caught in a trap on the Patapedia by an Indian was met by the hunter, marching around with the trap on one foot and shouldering the pole to which it was attached, biting savagely at the knots and boughs of trees he passed and inflicting terrible wounds on the defenceless wood. Knowing there was a bounty of three dollars a bear on the New Brunswick side of the boundary, the Indian succeeded in driving him across the dividing brook. This done, he shot him and got his bounty.
Another wily Indian cut off the snouts of two large Newfoundland dogs, and producing them to the magistrate demanded the bounty money. Being asked for the customary oath, he said, ‘Swear me in Indian, me no understand English well.’ ‘All right,’ said the unsuspecting justice. The guileless Indian then swore in the Indian tongue that he had killed two large black dogs—and pocketed the six dollars.
A story showing the humor of a Maliceet Indian, who was a great snuff-taker, is the following: “One time I go huntem moose, night come dark, rain and snow come fast; no axe for makum wig-wam; gun wet, no get um fire; me bery tired, me crawl into large hollow tree; I find plenty room, almost begin sleep. By-and-by me feelum hot wind blow on my face, me know hot bear’s breath. He crawl into log too; I takeum gun, she no go; I think me all same gone, all eat up. Then me thinkum my old snuff-box. I take some snuff and throw ’em in bear’s face, and he run out, not very much likeum. I guess me lay still all night, he no come again, little while, bear he go O-me sneezum, over and over, great times. Morning come, me fixeum gun and shoot ’em dead; he no more sneezum, no more this time.”
When an Indian catches a bear in a trap, he apologizes to the animal, and asks that vengeance shall not be taken for his death. He promises to respect his bones, and this promise he keeps; for Indians burn bears’ bones instead of giving them, like other bones, to the dogs.
Bruin is often very wily. A bear once dropped to the fire of a hunter’s rifle. Carefully reloading, the hunter advanced and poked the animal to make sure it was not shamming. The bear was motionless. The gun was laid down and a sheath knife drawn to prepare Mr. Bruin for the camp bearers. Just as the hunter grasped the forepaw the bear raised up, and a terrible struggle ensued. A son of the hunter was commanded by the father to shoot, but the boy was too nervous to risk a shot. Finally the hunter was worsted and succumbed to his injuries just as the son gained command of himself and lodged a bullet in Bruin’s head. A singular part of the story is the positive statement that only one bullet was found in the bear’s body—and that was the son’s bullet that killed the animal at the last.
Another story of a bear shamming has a happier ending, for in this case the hunter reloaded and approached by stealth after seeing Bruin drop like a stone to his rifle shot. This time the bear ‘came to life’ too soon. He was found standing, and ready to give battle, until a second shot really hit him and ended all shamming.