“Like enough!” said Lon. “I’ve never been to the house, but that’s about the fashion old Calleck’d ’a’ done any job. But I’ll get on to where Wallowby and the bear come in. Wallowby’d been cruisin’ down in the villages, and I guess he’d sorter wore out his welcome in spots. Way he put it to me was he got to longin’ for the congenial society of a brother scientist, and so he tramped off to find Calleck. He’d never seen him and he didn’t know jest where the stone house was, but everybody was amazin’ glad to give him directions and push him along; and so he moseyed up into the woods.
“It was along in December, but the ground was still bare; though it had been mighty cold, and it kept gettin’ colder all the while Wallowby climbed the hills. Got dark, too, and the wind was risin’. ’Cordin’ to Wallowby ’twas perishin’ cold, and black as a cellar, before he woke to the fact that he was as good as lost.
“He stopped and tried to figger out his bearin’s, but it was no use. It was a second growth, hard wood country, with a lot o’ scrub stuff mixed in; and he’d been fallin’ over roots, and duckin’ branches till his notions o’ north and south was twisted as a corkscrew. Looked like he was in for a night in the brush, but to keep from freezin’ he wrapped an old blanket shawl—he always carried one—around his head, and kept goin’. ’Twa’n’t no pleasure trip, believe me! He shivered when he told about it, but he owned up he shivered wuss that night when he thought he heard something pantin’ off to the right. What with the old shawl over his ears he wa’n’t quite sure; but, anyhow, he stepped out livelier’n ever, and then plunk! he bust through a bush and into a clearin’. And in the clearin’ was a big black spot that meant a house o’ some sort.
“Wallowby made for that house same’s a woodchuck makes for his hole when there’s a dog after him. He went round the corner of it so fast that he couldn’t stop, when, all of a sudden, he saw waddlin’ ’round the other corner something big and black, and loomin’ like a mountain. And he heard that pantin’ so loud it sounded like a steam engine. And then, not bein’ able to clap on the brakes quick enough, he butted fair into the thing. His hands hit the thing’s body, and he could feel thick fur. He tried to yell, but all that’d come out of his throat was a hoarse growl. And then what was like a big claw raked his arm, and laid open three-four deep gashes across the back of his hand.
“’Twas a mutual surprise party all right. Wallowby turned, and headed for the bush, as if he was more like a scared jack-rabbit than a woodchuck. But he didn’t go far. He fell over a root, and before he got up it broke on him that the bear was makin’ for cover on the other side o’ the house.
“Wallowby told me he didn’t lose sight of the argyment that, if he didn’t get into that house, he’d freeze. With the blood tricklin’ from his hand he wa’n’t anxious to risk old Bruin changin’ his mind and comin’ back, so he sneaked round to the back o’ the place. He had no weapon but a jack-knife with a broken blade, but he got it out.
“‘And would you believe it?’ he says to me. ‘It was like Tophet for darkness, but, jest as I got to the house, that miserable critter came pantin’ at me! He let drive with that murderin’ claw of hisn, and I dug into him with the knife. And then, somehow, each of us was reminded of his own business, and done accordin’. I got back into the brush, and sot there thinkin’. I was all of a sweat, and freezin’ at the same time; for the chill was gettin’ into the very marrow of my bones. And, pooty soon, studyin’ that lump of a house like it was a chicken pie Thanksgivin’ mornin’, I managed to make out the chimney against the sky. It was a whoppin’ big chimney, big enough for a man to drop through. And the roof sloped ’most to the ground.
“‘Wal,’ says Wallowby, tellin’ the story, ‘I didn’t need two hints. I got holt of the edge of that roof, and I wriggled up and clumb to the chimney. And then I heard that pantin’ ’tother side o’ the stack, and next minute me ’n’ that fool bear was buttin’ our heads together. I rolled down the slope and over the edge, and ’most druv the breath out o’ my body. But, all the same, I heard an awful thud as the bear fell off ’tother side.
“‘Wal, I sat there a minute or two gettin’ my wind back and my mad up. I couldn’t stay where I was—I’d ‘a’ froze stiff. And if I’d got to bet by a bear, I’d be something better’n a cold lunch, anyhow. And, besides, all my life I’d been helpin’ sufferin’ humanity dirt cheap; but I drew the line at sellin’ my life anything but dear to a wuthless old he-bear. So up I got, grippin’ the knife, and started full tilt for the front door. If that bear interfered, he’d take his chances o’ gettin’ hurt. But would you believe it? Just as I dove for the door he riz up in the darkness ahead o’ me and done the same thing, simultaneous. We whanged away at each other, and then, sir, sure as I’m standin’ here! we jammed through that door together; and fell over a stool; and he went one way, and I went another. And the knife flew out o’ my hand, and hit a log smoulderin’ on the hearth, and a flame shot up. And there on his hands and knees, glarin’ at me and wheezin’ like a broken bellows, was the ornariest old codger in a buffalo coat you ever set eyes on!
“‘“Wal,” says I; “wal, but you got a mighty peculiar way o’ treatin’ company! Ain’t you got no better manners?”