For all I was so scart that I was sweating icicles, I
couldn't help but snicker. Howsomever, at that moment brother bear
threw his weight on the board, and she snapped like a toothpick, and my
merry smile took a walk. I was in a desperate fix! He had only to
keep on pulling down boards to the last one, and then, of course, I'd
come down with it. Something had to be done. I grabbed a sack of
flour and heaved it at him; the sack caught on a splinter and ripped,
so beyond covering him with powder it had no particular result. He
_did_ stop and taste the flour; he had lots of time! There wasn't any
good in that. But as I reached around for another weapon my hand
struck the can of alcohol, and right then I had a genuine three-X
inspiration. I pulled the plug from the can and poured the spirits
down. The bear howled murder as the stuff ran into his eyes, and
plunking himself on his hunkies, he began to paw and scrape it out.
There was my chance! I fumbled through all my pockets as fast as my
hand could travel--no matches! Then cussing and praying like a
steam-engine, I tried it again; found a handful in the first pocket;
dropped most of 'em, being so nervous, but scratched what was left and
chucked 'em on Mr. Bear.
"Great Moses in the bulrushes! Events began on that instant. I've
seen a cyclone, and an earthquake, and a cloudburst, and an Injun
outbreak, and a Democratic convention, but roll 'em into one and that
bear would give 'em cards, spades, big and little casino, a stuffed
deck, and the tally-board too, and then beat 'em without looking at his
hand.
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