An' the last thing he considers is the feelin's of
that partic'lar party he's dallyin' with. Now, however, all is
changed. Thar's rifles, burnin' four inches of this yere fulminatin'
powder, that can chuck a bullet through a foot of green oak. Wisely
directed, they lets sunshine through a grizzly b'ar like he's a pane
of glass. An', son, them b'ars is plumb onto the play.
"What's the finish? To-day you can't get clost enough to a grizzly
to hand him a ripe peach. Let him glimpse or smell a white man, an'
he goes scatterin' off across hill an' canyon like a quart of licker
among forty men. They're shore apprehensife of them big bullets an'
hard-hittin' guns, them b'ars is; an' they wouldn't listen to you,
even if you talks nothin' but bee-tree an' gives a bond to keep the
peace besides. Yes, sir; the day when the grizzly b'ar will stand
without hitchin' has deeparted the calendar a whole lot. They no
longer attempts insolent an' coarse familiar'ties with folks.
Instead of regyardin' a rifle as a rotton cornstalk in disguise,
they're as gun-shy as a female institoote. Big b'ars an' little
bars, it's all sim'lar; for the old ones tells it to the young, an'
the lesson is spread throughout the entire nation of b'ars.
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