They met in the frost-shimmering mountain morning, on their way to the

corral, to get their cars ready before breakfast. They were shy, hence

they were boisterous, and tremendously unreferential to campfire

confidences, and informative about distilled water for batteries, and

the price of gas in the Park. On Milt's shoulder rode Vere de Vere who,

in her original way, relieved one pause by observing "Mrwr."

They came in through the corral gate before any of the other motor

tourists had appeared--and they stupidly halted to watch a bear, a

large, black, adipose and extremely unchained bear, stalk along the line

of cars, sniff, cock an ear at the Gomez, lumber up on its

running-board, and bundle into the seat. His stern filled the space

between side and top, and he was to be heard snuffing.

"Oh! Look! Milt! Left box of candy on seat---- Oh, please drive him

away!"

"Me? Drive--that?"

"Frighten him away. Aren't animals afraid human eye----"

"Not in this park. Guns forbidden. Animals protected by U. S. Army,

President, Congress, Supreme Court, Department of Interior, Monroe

Doctrine, W. C. T. U. But I'll try--cautiously."

"Don't you want me think you're hero?"

"Ye-es, providin' I don't have to go and be one."

They edged toward the car. The bear flapped his hind legs, looked out at

the intruders, said "Oofflll!" and returned to the candy.

"Shoo!" Milt answered politely.

"Llooffll!"

From his own bug, beside the Gomez, Milt got a tool kit, and with

considerable brilliance as a pitcher he sent a series of wrenches at the

agitated stern of the bear. They offended the dignity of the ward of the

Government. He finished the cover and ribbons of the candy box, and

started for Milt ... who proceeded with haste toward Claire ... who was

already at the gate.

Lady Vere de Vere, cat of a thousand battles, gave one frightful squawl,

shot from Milt's shoulder and at the bear, claws out, fur electric. The

bear carelessly batted once with its paw, and the cat sailed into the

air. The satisfied bear strolled to the fence, shinned up it and over.

"Good old Vere! That wallop must of darn near stunned her, though!" Milt

laughed to Claire, as they trotted back into the corral. The cat did not

move, as they came up; did not give the gallant "Mrwr" with which she

had saluted Milt on lonely morning after morning of forlorn driving

behind the Gomez. He picked Vere up.

"She's--she's dead," he said. He was crying.

"Oh, Milt---- Last night you said Vere was all the family you had. You

have the Boltwoods, now!"

She did not touch his hand, nor did they speak as they walked soberly to

the far side of the corral, and buried Lady Vere de Vere. At breakfast

they talked of the coming day's run, from the canyon out of the Park,

and northward. But they had the queer, quick casualness of intimates.




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