All of a sudden there was heard a heavy footfall near the entranceway. The oval-shaped doorframe was pushed aside. In stepped a large black foot with great big claws. Then the other clumsy foot came next. All the while the baby badgers stared hard at the unexpected comer. After the second foot, in peeped the head of a big black bear! His black nose was dry and parched. Silently he entered the dwelling and sat down on the ground by the doorway. His black eyes never left the painted bags on the rocky walls. He guessed what was in them. He was a very hungry bear. Seeing the racks of red meat hanging in the yard, he had come to visit the badger family.
Though he was a stranger and his strong paws and jaws frightened the small badgers, the father said, “How, how, friend! Your lips and nose look feverish and hungry. Will you eat with us?”
“Yes, my friend,” said the bear. “I am starved. I saw your racks of red fresh meat, and knowing your heart is kind, I came hither. Give me meat to eat, my friend.”
Hereupon the mother badger took long strides across the room, and as she had to pass in front of the strange visitor, she said: “Ah han! Allow me to pass!” which was an apology.
“How, how!” replied the bear, drawing himself closer to the wall and crossing his shins together.
Mother badger chose the most tender red meat, and soon over a bed of coals she broiled the venison.
That day the bear had all he could eat. At nightfall he rose, and smacking his lips together—that is the noisy way of saying “the food was very good!”—he left the badger dwelling. The baby badgers, peeping through the door-flap after the shaggy bear, saw him disappear into the woods near by.
Day after day the crackling of twigs in the forest told of heavy footsteps. Out would come the same black bear. He never lifted the door-flap, but thrusting it aside entered slowly in. Always in the same place by the entranceway he sat down with crossed shins.
His daily visits were so regular that mother badger placed a fur rug in his place. She did not wish a guest in her dwelling to sit upon the bare hard ground.
At last one time when the bear returned, his nose was bright and black. His coat was glossy. He had grown fat upon the badger’s hospitality.
As he entered the dwelling a pair of wicked gleams shot out of his shaggy head. Surprised by the strange behavior of the guest who remained standing upon the rug, leaning his round back against the wall, father badger queried: “How, my friend! What?”
The bear took one stride forward and shook his paw in the badger’s face. He said: “I am strong, very strong!”
“Yes, yes, so you are,” replied the badger. From the farther end of the room mother badger muttered over her bead work: “Yes, you grew strong from our well-filled bowls.”
The bear smiled, showing a row of large sharp teeth.
“I have no dwelling. I have no bags of dried meat. I have no arrows. All these I have found here on this spot,” said he, stamping his heavy foot. “I want them! See! I am strong!” repeated he, lifting both his terrible paws.
Quietly the father badger spoke: “I fed you. I called you friend, though you came here a stranger and a beggar. For the sake of my little ones leave us in peace.”
Mother badger, in her excited way, had pierced hard through the buckskin and stuck her fingers repeatedly with her sharp awl until she had laid aside her work. Now, while her husband was talking to the bear, she motioned with her hands to the children. On tiptoe they hastened to her side.
For reply came a low growl. It grew louder and more fierce. “Wä-ough!” he roared, and by force hurled the badgers out. First the father badger; then the mother. The little badgers he tossed by pairs. He threw them hard upon the ground. Standing in the entranceway and showing his ugly teeth, he snarled, “Begone!”
The father and mother badger, having gained their feet, picked up their kicking little babes, and, wailing aloud, drew the air into their flattened lungs till they could stand alone upon their feet. No sooner had the baby badgers caught their breath than they howled and shrieked with pain and fright. Ah! what a dismal cry was theirs as the whole badger family went forth wailing from out their own dwelling! A little distance away from their stolen house the father badger built a small round hut. He made it of bent willows and covered it with dry grass and twigs.
This was shelter for the night; but alas! it was empty of food and arrows. All day father badger prowled through the forest, but without his arrows he could not get food for his children. Upon his return, the cry of the little ones for meat, the sad quiet of the mother with bowed head, hurt him like a poisoned arrow wound.
“I’ll beg meat for you!” said he in an unsteady voice. Covering his head and entire body in a long loose robe he halted beside the big black bear. The bear was slicing red meat to hang upon the rack. He did not pause for a look at the comer. As the badger stood there unrecognized, he saw that the bear had brought with him his whole family. Little cubs played under the high-hanging new meats. They laughed and pointed with their wee noses upward at the thin sliced meats upon the poles.
“Have you no heart, Black Bear? My children are starving. Give me a small piece of meat for them,” begged the badger.
“Wä-ough!”
