The Beast of the Corral

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.