'Didn't give 'im time,' said Ab, as he took out his knife and began
slowly to sharpen a stick.
'Don't never wan' t' rassle with no bear,' he added, 'but hams is too
scurce here 'n the woods t' hev 'em tuk away 'fore ye know the taste
uv 'em. I ain't never been hard on bears. Don't seldom ever set no
traps an' I ain't shot a bear fer mor'n 'n ten year. But they've got t' be
decent. If any bear steals my vittles he's goin' t' git cuffed bard.'
Ab's tongue had limbered up at last. His pipe was going well and
he seemed to have struck an easy grade. There was a tone of injury
and aggrievement in his talk of the bear's ingratitude. He snailed
over his whittling as we laughed heartily at the droll effect of it all.
'D'ye ever hear o' the wild man 'at roams 'round'n these woods?' he
asked.
'Never did,' said Uncle Eb.
'I've seen 'im more times 'n ye could shake a stick at,' said Ab
crossing his legs comfortably and spitting into the fire. 'Kind o'
thank he's the same man folks tells uv down 'n Paradise Valley
there - 'at goes 'round 'n the clearin' after bedtime.
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