Monsieur Bruin

MONSIEUR BRUIN By Alverda Altman Harbaugh As the highways have flung their great arms into the remote places, making possible the invasion of hunter and tourist, encounters between man and beast have become numerous. Many tales are told of these adventures but none are more thrilling than those which have for their hero or villain, as the case may be, that great giant of the forest, Monsieur Bruin, thrill producer par excellence. Witness the experience of a quiet and respectable newspaper man who was seeking rest and solitude in a lonely mountain retreat. Yield- ing to his one and only hobby, he was riding his beloved bicycle down an old stage road one afternoon. His very soul was enjoying the calm graciousness of that autumn day, when suddenly rounding a curve, he came upon a giant bear sitting placidly in the middle of the road. Automatically he thrust out his foot to stop his wheel but he put such force behind the action that the wheel stopped with a jerk and he went with hurtling momentum over the handle bars straight at Monsieur Bruin. Every moment, which seemed a life time, he expected to feel the soft impact of a furry body, the embrace of powerful arms and the caress of ravenous jaws. These delightful anticipations were interrupted as he struck the planked road with a thud and lifted his head in time to see the bear tearing madly down the mountain-side pursued by the wildly careening wheel. And he realized all too late that perhaps the most thrilling moment of his life had passed quite unappreciated. Another experience quite as sensational while it lasted was that of Deputy Game Warden Phil Motschenbacher. He and a companion were hunting one day, near the head waters of the Rogue River in Oregon, when he sighted a, bear browsing in the brush. He took aim and shot the bear in the hind quarters. Angered by this unexpected assault, the great animal turned and charged straight at his foe. The game warden fired again, wounding the animal severely but failing to stop for an instant his maddened onrush. A third shot piercing the abdomen proved fatal but not a moment too soon for the bear was so close that his nose was burned with the powder. Far more accommodating was the bear recently shot at Diamond Lake, Oregon. Bruin had climbed up a tree where perhaps he fancied himself quite safe until an enterprising truck driver came along. He drove the truck under bruin's perch and shot him. Without further ado the bear tumbled accommodatingly into the truck, quite dead and ready to be transported. Not everyone is fortunate enough to be equipped with a truck and a gun when his opportunity for a great thrill arrives. Russell

45 6 IMPROVEMENT ERA Emery, a ranch hand on ZX ranch near Silver Lake, Oregon, had only his trusty steed and a lariat when he encountered a bear wander- ing around one of the fields. Nothing daunted, the man started in hot pursuit, twirling his lariat as he went. He succeeded in throwing the noose over bruin's head but could not hold him. At a second attempt he caught the bear's foot but again the animal extricated him- self and crashing through corrals and fences reached the brush and safety. This incident might prove a good suggestion for the managers of the various rodeos that are so popular just now. Imagine the thrill it would give the great crowds of people that gather each year to see the steer-roping contests if, when the gates were thrown open, instead of the expected steers, out rushed a number of giant bears, wild and ferocious, pursued by the dauntless cowboys with their lariats. Hundreds of people every summer enjoy the bears in our Na- tional parks. These creatures, half wild, half tame, perform some most amusing antics and provide a milder sort of thrill for those in search of safe and sane adventure. Yellowstone National Park boasts a hold-up or bandit bear, named Jesse James. This wise bruin has long ago ceased to forage for his meals. Instead, he has a favorite spot on the road to Yellowstone Lake where he lies in wait for tourists. As they approach he rears upon his hind feet and growls ferociously until appeased with offerings of food and sweets. Needless to say, he has grown disgracefully fat and lazy and somewhat unreliable as to disposition. Rainier National Park has several rather small, brown bears which have learned the ways of men and their cameras and have become adept, even vain, at posing by the roadside for their pictures. Crowds of people may gather near them and a constant stream of passing machines disturbs them not at all but let one of the vivid red auto stages approach and they immediately scramble wildly up the nearest tree, where they insist upon remaining until the offending car has disappeared around a curve. Has bruin a color complex perhaps or has the red glow of the forest fire taught him to fear all things of flaming hue? Far up in the mountains on the road between Ashland and Klamath Falls, Oregon, lives a lone black bear amid surroundings so wild that they must seem a veritable paradise to him as he gazes at them from his strange cage. Many prison homes has he known but never one like this which is really a miniature log cabin — much like the one his master occupies near by — surrounded by a high stockade. At night he can hear the weird call of the coyote and the stir of night life among the creatures of the forest. Perhaps another bear wanders near and he feels the urge to be free and roam the hills with his kind. Or perhaps he only lies and dreams strange dreams of the only life he has ever known, for this bear has traveled the whole wide world around. He has wandered with his master through most of the countries of Europe, visiting the little hamlets, entertaining groups of

MONSIEUR BRUIN 457 strange looking people whose laughter and applause he could under- stand but whose language sounded queer even to a bear. He has crossed the ocean several times and experienced the pangs of seasickness and the joy of finding himself safely on land once more. He has enter- tained thousands of people under the great "white-top tents" in Amer- ica and delighted innumerable children with his strange antics. Now he is old and his useful days are past, yet scarcely a tourist passes over that lonely mountain road without stopping to admire this great shaggy animal and feel mildly thrilled at the story of his adventures. Hair-breadth escapes, dangerous combats, interesting escapades or pleasant surprises, whatever one may ask in the way of a thrill will all be supplied by a chance encounter with Monsieur Bruin. For whether wild or tame, foe or friend, there is something about the very presence of this mighty beast that arouses strange primitive emo- tions in the heart of all mankind. Portland, Oregon Only a Day Only a day in which to live, To "do or die," And say, "Will I?" As the wages of sin gain ground. Can only a day be ample time To win that fight, And say, "All's right," Before the morn of the trumpet sound? What! — Only a day to do our work? "Oh no! Oh no! Not so! Not so! — There may be a morrow — We don't care." But that "only a day" is lost, If the setting sun Sees nothing done, And the mortal is down in despair. Yes, only a day is ample time; For many a man, Who said, "I can!" Gained the top of the world we say. They fought not brilliantly well, but said : "The work can be done, If it's just begun ( •, With the knowledge : 'There s only a day. >,.. , . . S. ROBERT BJORKMAN Sugar City, Idaho

REMEMBER THE SABBATH DAY A True Incident By S. C. Richardson This world would be in a sad state if there were not a little justifiable skepticism, but the incidents that come into our lives can not fail to influence, and often, nearly form the character that makes our real selves. The following is one of many incidents that have had a great influence in my mind against working on the Sabbath day. In 189 — , six of us were filling a contract of Mesquite-root wood, for Uncle Sam's soldiers. Our camp was about forty miles by the road, around the point of the mountains, east of Deming. One Saturday night the measurement showed that a load from each, and two extra would finish the job. As we sat around the fire that evening, the one in charge of our work, whom I will call John Hatton, said, "I don't like to work on Sunday, but we are away from home, and if we wait till Monday, we must have more water, and must care for our animals another day, so let's put in the Sabbath, and go home. What do you say?" When it came my turn to speak I said, "I have never felt, even from a financial standpoint, that it has paid me to work on Sunday, I would rather wait another day." "Well," Mr. Hatton said, "it's so easy to go to an extreme on these little things. I am never afraid of its making any difference about Sunday in a case like this, where it's justified. Let's work." "If you say so," I replied, "but we would never know the difference of another day. I think we would not be justified." Then I told how the day might be profitably occupied. There were smiles, as they said how much nicer it would be to do that at home on Tuesday, if we wanted to do it. So it was settled. We would work on Sunday and go home on Monday. We did the first but not the next. As daylight began, those who had gone to round up the horses, came in with only part of them. For some reason they had scattered badly. Breakfast was eaten and another trip brought in all but Mr. Hatton's mules. All took another trip, and the animals' tracks were found going north. Then Mr. Hatton came to me. "Sullie, I believe you are the best hand at tracking in the crowd. If you will take one of your horses and go for the lost mules, we will double in on your wagon and animals and get your load in. I think they are not stolen, and they may have just started back to their old range near Deming." I went, followed the tracks along the foothills, up a canyon, over

REMEMBER THE SABBATH DAY 459 the lower ridges where they led from the higher range of mountains, down the west side, to a ranch where they got water, then in a direct line to where they had ranged so long. Just before sundown I found them a mile or two south of the little house where Mr. Hatton had lived two or three years. A little Hatton hoy got me a saddle to ride back on, for I was greatly in need of one. Putting it on a mule, I fastened the other to my mare and could travel. It clouded up and rained enough to wet me through, and when about four miles from our camp, where the track left the road, it was so dark I had to get off and crawl along for several rods feeling for the tracks that turned away, being guided to the place by the lighter color of the thick, frost-bitten grass that showed the bottom of the swale. Twice this was repeated. I lighted every match I had at the first trail. When the mule was put onto the track, I was quite sure of the animal following it, but without the track, no one could possibly have found our camp in that little sheltered swale. A little after eleven, I rode up to the fire around which all were still seated, discussing the day and its troubles. The animals made no sound on the damp earth, and as I came near I heard Mr. Hatton say, "By Jucks! I'd give five dollars to have Sullie ride up with them mules." "Here they are," I called out, "pull out your money." There was certainly rejoicing, but the greater part of Monday had passed before we were through with it, and I am certain that what might have made that Sunday a pleasure was never done at home. A single instance of this kind may be smiled away, by saying, "It just happened so," but when similar cases follow one after an- other in succession, one soon makes up his mind not too quickly to justify himself in breaking the Sabbath. Thatcher, Arizona. The Son of Man Time was in the meridian, When he, the Christ man came: And lived on earth among men: Time in fullness, and again He comes, — O Glorious Name; As Lord and King to reign. Prepare the path — make straight the way, For Him, our God-man King, To come; His Saints adore Him: By works of Faith, as good men pray, We'll pave the path and sing Our hallelujahs to His Name. Amen. Santa Barbara, Calif. AUBREY J. PARKER