Ben tries on his new chain and collar
Ben tries on his new chain and collar
Ben tries on his new chain and collar
Ben was still the same jolly fellow, but now grown so large that by standing on his hind feet he could catch his claws in the hair cinch of the saddle and relieve us of the trouble of lifting him to the back of his mount. He and Jim remained the best of friends. Spencer continued to teach the cub new tricks. Ben could now juggle not only the ball, but any other object that was not too heavy for his strength, and he spent many hours at the pastime. While we were packing the baggage Ben attracted the attention of the entire population. The children, being told that he was gentle, brought him ripe plums and candies and he was constantly stuffed as full as he could hold, and not unnaturally took a great fancy to the kids. They were always ready to play with him, moreover, and his entire time at this place was divided between eating and wrestling with the youngsters. And when we left Ben received an ovation from the whole community.
Ben and Buckskin caused no end of sensations in passing through the country. We often came across loose horses feeding along the highway, and these nearly always wished to make our acquaintance. They would follow Spencer and myself for a while, and then turn back to see if the pony loitering in the rear was not more friendly. And Buck on these occasions would hurry ahead, more than anxious to meet them. But they never waited for an introduction. With loud snorts and tails in the air they either shot away across the open fields or tore madly past us up the turnpike, while Buckskin stood looking after them in puzzled disappointment.
One day, just as we were rounding a turn in the road, we met a farmer and his wife driving a two-horse buggy. Buckskin had just come loping up and was only a few yards behind us, and the sight of a bear riding a horse so pleased the farmer that he paid little attention to his horses, who almost went crazy with fright. Buck looked at the dancing team in amazement, and Ben was as much interested as any one. But the woman, in the very beginning, took sides with the farm team, and sat with terrified eyes clutching her husband’s arm and yelling for him to be careful. Finally her fright and cries got on his nerves, and he stopped laughing long enough to shout “Will you shut up?” in a voice that effectually broke up the meeting.
One night we asked for lodging at a farm run by an old lady. As I knocked at the door of the house and proffered our request she at once gave her consent, and directed us to the rear of the stable, where we would find hay for our horses and where we could spread our blankets for the night. Next morning we paid our bill, and as we left the yard the old lady, who was at the door to see us off, called out to know if all five of those horses were ours. I told her that they were and asked what she meant, and she said that she had only charged us for feed for three. She had, she explained, been so taken up with looking at that fool bear riding a horse that two of the horses had escaped her notice.
At last we reached Spokane and Ben’s horseback riding came to an end. He had covered more than a thousand miles of mountain and valley and ridden for nearly four months. I fitted up a woodshed for him with a door opening into a small court, where an old partly rotted log was put to remind him of the forest. He soon became a great favorite, and as no one was allowed to tease him he continued to be friendly and gentle.
This shed in which Ben lived had the earth for a floor, and adjoining it there was a carriage-house with a floor some ten or twelve inches above the ground. One day soon after Ben was placed in the shed I came home and found a large pile of fresh earth and a hole leading down under the carriage-house. I could hear Ben digging and puffing at the bottom of it, and when I called he came out, his silky black coat covered with dirt. I had never seen him dig before, unless it was for a root, or the time I had buried him alive to hush his crying in the little cave in the Bitter Roots; and it was several days before I understood what he was about. Then it came to me that he was building himself a winter home. I have learned since that bears in captivity by no means always show a desire to hibernate; but Ben had the instinct thoroughly developed. And instinct it was, pure and simple, for he had never seen a bear’s den except the one that he left as a tiny cub on the day that his mother was killed. He evidently regarded the work as a most serious and important undertaking, and I watched his labors with much interest. He devoted several hours each day to shaping his cave and at times would break suddenly away in the very middle of a romp and hurry to his digging. If I caught him by his short tail and dragged him out of the hole, he would rush back to his work as soon as released. I even enlarged the entrance so that I could crawl in and watch him work, and on one or two occasions I undertook to help him. But, while he would not resent this, my work did not seem to please him, as he moved the dirt which I had dug and resettled it to suit himself. He piled loose earth up under the floor of the carriage-house and pushed and jammed it tight up against the boards until there was not a crack or space left through which a draught could reach him. The hole itself he made about four feet in diameter and about three feet deep; and when this part of the work was finished he turned his attention to furnishing his home. He found some cast-off clothing in the alley near his shed and dragged it into his den under the carriage-house. After arranging this first instalment he hurried out to look for more, and for several evenings the furnishing of the sleeping apartment occupied the major part of his time. Once he came back dragging a fine cashmere shawl that he pulled off a clothesline where one of the neighbors had hung it to air! Not until the floor of his den was several inches deep in rags did he give up foraging and once more return to his usual habits.
And then, one morning, when I went to the shed for kindling, there was no Ben to greet me. The ground was buried several inches deep in snow and quite a drift had sifted through the crack under the door; and I saw by following Ben’s chain that it led down under the carriage-house, and knew that he was now enjoying the comforts that he had made ready a month before. As long as the severe weather lasted Ben remained in his cave. But there was nothing either mysterious or curious about his condition. Sometimes, in the coldest weather, I would call him out and he never failed to come. It usually took three calls to bring him however. At my first cry of “Ben!” there would be no sound; then, at a louder “Ben!” there would be a shaking of the chain, then quiet again; but at the third peremptory call there would be a few puffs and snorts and out he would come, fairly steaming from the warmth of his house. I often tried to get him to eat at such times, but he would only smell of the food; then he would stand up on his hind feet with his forepaws against my shoulders, lap my face and hands with his tongue, and crawl back to his nest. Several times I crept down into his den to find out how he slept. He was curled up much as a dog would be and seemed simply to be having a good nap. The amount of heat that his body gave out was astonishing. I have thrust my hand under him as he slept and it actually felt hot. The steam, too, that came up through the cracks of the floor of the carriage-house not only covered the carriage with frost but coated the whole inside of the room.
For more than a year, or until he got so large and rough that he broke the rockers from several chairs that he upset in his mad gallops around the rooms, he was allowed the privilege of the house. He used to stand up and touch the keys of the piano gently, then draw back and listen as long as the vibration lasted. He was fond, too, of being dragged about on his back by a rope that he held fast in his teeth. He never tired of this sport and would get his rope and pester you until you gave him a drag to get rid of him. He had several playthings with which he would amuse himself for hours, and one of these was a block of wood that had replaced the rope ball that he had been used to juggle on his trip through the Bitter Roots. Another was ten or twelve feet of old garden hose. This he would seize in his teeth by the middle and shake it as a dog would shake a snake until the ends fairly snapped. Once, when he had hold of the hose, I put my mouth to one end and called through it. He was all attention at once and when I called again he took the opposite end in his paws, seated himself squarely on the ground, and held one eye to the opening to see where the sound came from. This sitting down to things was characteristic of him. He would never do anything that he could sit down to until he had deliberately settled himself in that comfortable position. A mirror was a great puzzle to him and he never fully solved the riddle of where the other bear kept himself. He would stand in front and look at his reflection, then try to touch it with his paw. Finding the glass in the road, he would tip the mirror forward and look behind it; then start in and walk several times around it, trying to catch up with the illusive bear.
But Ben’s desire to catch the looking-glass bear was as nothing to his determination to catch the kitchen cat. This was his supreme ambition, and, although he never realized it, there was one occasion on which he came within sight of success. When he was a small cub and admitted familiarly to the house he had often chased the cat around the kitchen until everything had been upset except the stove; or until the cat, watching her chance, had escaped to the woodshed to go into hiding for an hour to get her nerves quieted down. But his final banishment from the house had established a forced truce between them. He was not allowed in her territory, and she took care not to trespass on his. One day, however, when Ben was nearly two years old, he was, for some reason or other, allowed to come into the kitchen for a few moments. And as he entered the room he spied the cat. Instantly his forgotten dreams returned; and when pussy, her tail fluffed up to four times its rightful size, took refuge in the kitchen pantry, Ben very deliberately crossed the kitchen and blocked the pantry door. For a few seconds the two glared at each other and then, with a spit and a yowl, the cat made a mad dash around the pantry shelves and, amid the din of falling stew pans, vaulted clear over the bear’s head and crouched by the wood box behind the stove. Now Ben, when a small cub, had been used to going under that stove, and he saw no reason for not taking the same old route. His head went under all right, but for an instant the massive shoulders stuck. Then the powerful hind feet were gathered under him, there was a ripping of linoleum as the sharp nails tore through it, the hind legs straightened out, and the stove went over with a mighty crash. A dozen feet of stove pipe came tumbling down, the room was filled with smoke, and from underneath the wreck a frightened cat leaped through the door closely followed by a disappointed bear. This was Ben’s last visit inside the house.
As he grew older and larger, he remained as kindly and good-natured as ever. He would still tumble about with Jim, although the dog could now stand very little of this kind of play; for Ben did not know how strong and rough he was. When, in playing with the boys in back lots, he got warmed up, he would go flying over to a barrel kept full of water for the horses and, climbing upon the rim, would let his hinder parts down into the cool water, turn round up to his chin for a few minutes, and then climb out and take after one of the spectators. When he caught up with any one he would never touch them, but would at once turn and expect them to chase him. Then, when about to be caught, he would go snorting up a telegraph pole. I frequently took him walking in the town, but always on a chain to keep him from chasing everybody. On these occasions if he heard any unfamiliar noise he would clutch the chain close up to his collar and sit down. After listening awhile, if he decided that it was safe to proceed, he would drop the chain and our walk would continue. But if the sound didn’t please him he would start for his woodshed on the jump, and after he got to weigh a hundred pounds or more I invariably went with him—if I hung onto the chain.
A stop for a drink of water
A stop for a drink of water
A stop for a drink of water
He still juggled his block, but now he had a new one that was more suited to his size and strength, a piece of log a foot or more in diameter and sixteen to eighteen inches in length. This stick he kept for a couple of years and juggled so much that his claws wore hollows in the ends of it.
When Ben was four years old business compelled me to move to the town of Missoula, Montana. I could not bear to part with my pet, so shipped him by express to the town he had visited on horseback as a tiny cub. Now, however, the express company charged me for transportation on three hundred and thirty-two pounds of bear meat. It was fall when we moved to Missoula, and Ben was given a small room in one end of a woodshed and, as he had no cave to sleep in, I had the room filled with shavings. Ben’s arrival was quite an event and roused much interest among the younger element of the town; which at first was shown by about forty boys attacking him with sticks and anything that they could hurl at him or punch him with. I showed them, however, how gentle and playful he was; got some of the boys to wrestle with him; told them that if they continued this rough treatment to which Ben was not used I would be compelled to lock him up; and, having had some experience with boys as well as with bears, forbore to tell them what I proposed to do to those who did not listen to me. This explanation and Ben’s evident readiness to make friends quite changed the general attitude toward him, but there were a few who refused to see things from my point of view. There was a man in Missoula at that time, Urlin by name, who was, or thought he was, the whole show. He was a sort of incipient “boss”; was at the head of the city council, and took it upon himself to see that things in general were run according to his ideas. He had two red-headed sons who aspired to occupy a similar position among the boys, and these had been the ringleaders of the mob that had attacked Ben, and were among the few who either could not or would not abandon the tactics of teasing and persecution. So, as there was no lock on Ben’s shed, but only a wooden button, and as it was already late in the fall, I nailed this fast and left the bear in his bed of shavings. That same afternoon, happening to look out of the window of the shop in which I was working, I saw people hurrying down the street and went to the door to find out what the excitement was about. Two blocks away, in front of my house, a mob was gathering, and I hurried home to find most of the women of the neighborhood wringing their hands and calling down all kinds of curses on my head.
At first I could make neither head nor tail of the clamor, but finally gathered that that bloodthirsty, savage, and unspeakable bear of mine had killed a boy; and upon asking to see the victim was told that the remains had been taken to a neighbor’s house and a doctor summoned. This was scarcely pleasant news and not calculated to make me popular in my new home; but, knowing that whatever had happened Ben had not taken the offensive without ample cause, I unchained him and put him into the cellar of my house, well out of harm’s way, before looking further into the matter. Then I went over to the temporary morgue and found the corpse (needless to say it was one of the Urlin boys) sitting up on the kitchen floor holding a sort of an impromptu reception and, with the exception of Ben, the least excited of any one concerned. I could not help admiring the youngster’s pluck, for he was an awful sight. From his feet to his knees his legs were lacerated and his clothing torn into shreds; and the top of his head—redder by far than ever nature had intended—was a bloody horror. As soon as I laid eyes on him I guessed what had happened.
It developed that the two Urlin boys had broken open the door of the shed and gone in to wrestle with the bear. Ben was willing, as he always was, and a lively match was soon on; whereupon, seeing that the bear did not harm the two already in the room, another of the boys joined the scuffle. Then one of them got on the bear’s back. This was a new one on Ben, but he took kindly to the idea and was soon galloping around the little room with his rider. Then another boy climbed on and Ben carried the two of them at the same mad pace. Then the third boy got aboard and round they all went, much to the delight of themselves and their cheering audience in the doorway. But even Ben’s muscles of steel had their limit of endurance, and after a few circles of the room with the three riders he suddenly stopped and rolled over on his back. And now an amazing thing happened. Of the three boys, suddenly tumbled helter-skelter from their seats, one happened to fall upon the upturned paws of the bear; and Ben, who for years had juggled rope balls, cord sticks, and miniature logs, instantly undertook to give an exhibition with his new implement. Gathering the badly frightened boy into position, the bear set him whirling. His clothing from his shoe tops to his knees was soon ripped to shreds and his legs torn and bleeding; his scalp was lacerated by the sharp claws until the blood flew in showers; his cries rose to shrieks and sank again to moans; but the bear, unmoved, kept up the perfect rhythm of his strokes. Finally the terrified lookers-on in the doorway, realizing that something had to be done if their leader was not to be twirled to death before their eyes, tore a rail from the fence and with a few pokes in Ben’s side induced him to drop the boy, who was then dragged out apparently more dead than alive.
Dr. Buckley, of the Northern Pacific Railway Hospital, carried young Urlin to his office, shaved his head, took seventy-six stitches in his scalp, and put rolls of surgical plaster on his shins. So square and true had Ben juggled him that not a scratch was found on his face or on any part of his body between the top of his head and his knees. He eventually came out of the hospital no worse for his ordeal, but I doubt if he ever again undertook to ride a bear.
For a while there was much curiosity in town as to what old man Urlin would do in the matter, and many prophecies and warnings reached me. But for some days I heard nothing from him. Then he called on me and asked, very politely, if I had killed the bear. When I told him that Ben was well and would in all natural probability live for twenty years or so, the old fellow threw diplomacy to the winds and fumed and threatened like a madman. But he calmed down in the end; especially after he was informed by his lawyers that, as his boys had forcibly broken into my shed, it was he himself that could be called to legal account. And so the matter was dropped.
But Ben was now grown so large that none but myself cared to wait on him; and when, the next spring, I found that I was going to be away in the mountains all summer, I began looking about for some way of getting him a good home. Nothing in the world would have induced me to have him killed, and I did not like to turn him loose in the hills for some trapper to catch or poison. Moreover I doubted his ability, after so sheltered a life, to shift for himself in the wilderness. But this was a problem in which the “don’t’s” were more easily discovered than the “do’s.” Weeks slipped by, I was leaving in a short time, no solution had offered, and I was at my wits’ end. And then a travelling circus came to town. I sought out the manager, told him Ben’s story, obtained his promise of kind treatment and good care for my pet and, with genuine heartache, presented the fine animal to him. That was sixteen years ago and I have never heard of Ben since. I often wonder if he’s still alive and if he’d know me. But of the last I have not a single doubt.