An Thomas, the
guide who tended the reservoir, came over and sat beside our fire
until bedtime. He had spent years in the wilderness going out for
nothing less important than an annual spree at circus time. He eyed
us over, each in turn, as if he thought us all very rare and
interesting.
'Many bears here?' Uncle Eb enquired.
'More plenty 'n human bein's,' he answered, puffing lazily at his
pipe with a dead calm in his voice and manner that I have never
seen equalled except in a tropic sea.
'See 'em often?' I asked.
He emptied his pipe, striking it on his palm until the bowl rang,
without answering. Then he blew into the stem with great
violence.
'Three or four 'n a summer, mebbe,' he said at length.
'Ever git sassy?' Uncle Eb asked.
He whipped a coal out of the ashes then and lifted it in his fingers
to the bowl of his pipe.
'Never real sassy,' he said between vigourous puffs. 'One stole a
ham off my pyazz las' summer; Al Fifield brought 't in fer me one
day - smelt good too! I kep' savin' uv it thinkin' I'd enjoy it all the
more when I did hev it.
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