Bear Brownie: The Life of a BearRobinson, Harry Perry
General
Bear Brownie: The Life of a Bear
Robinson, Harry Perry
Bears -- Fiction
We of course kept to the stream. There along the edges we found food,
for the rushes and grass and plants of all kinds had burned to the
water-line, but below that the stems and roots remained fresh and good.
But it was impossible to avoid getting the black dust into one's nose
and mouth, and our throats and nostrils were still full of the smell of
the smoke. No amount of water would wash it out. The effect of the
thunderstorm soon passed off, and by the next day everything was as dry
as ever, and the least puff of wind filled the air with clouds of black
powder which made us sneeze, and, getting into our eyes, kept them red
and sore. I do not think that in all my life I have spent such a
miserable time as during those days while we were trying to escape from
the region of the fire.
Of course, we did not know that there was any escape. Perhaps the whole
world had burned. But my father was sure that we should get out of it
some time or other if we only kept straight on. And keep on we did,
hardly ever leaving the water, but travelling on and on up the stream as
it got smaller and smaller, until finally there was no stream at all,
but only a spring bubbling out of the mountain-side. So we crossed over
the burnt ground until we came to the beginning of another stream on the
other side, and followed that down just as we had followed the first one
up. And perhaps the most dreadful thing all the time was the utter
silence of the woods. As a rule, both day and night, they were full of
the noises of other animals and birds, but now there was not a sound in
all the mountains. We seemed to be the only living things left.
The stream which we now followed was that on which the men whom we had
seen were camping, and presently we came to the place where they had
been. The chopped-log house was a pile of ashes and half-burnt wood.
About the ruins we found all sorts of curious things that were new to
us--among them, things which I now know were kettles and frying-pans;
and we came across lumps of their food, but it was all too much covered
with the black powder to be eatable. There we stayed for the best part
of a day, and then we went on without having seen a sign of man himself,
and wondering what had become of him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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