Free Mountain Storms by Max Brand Page A

successfully, she did not seriously object if he purloined so small a part of her spoils.
    He took the fishing line with him, also. In fact, that provided some of the choice fun for Tommy, for, when they came to a promising stream, or to a deep, silent little pool, Madame Grizzly sat back on her haunches so far from the edge of the water that her shadow would not fall upon it. Then she would call her cubs to her with ominous growls. Sometimes, she would gather them to her side with her strong forelegs, strangely like a human mother would use her arms, and, when all was reduced to silence, she would turn with a pathetic eye of expectation to Tommy. At once he became the hero of the hour.
    He would choose his place, attach the line to a small, light rod that he usually carried with him, and drop it into the pool and await results. With what keen anticipation they all watched. Yet, when the fish came shining out of the water, there was no stir on the part of madame , and, if the cubs dared to move, she brought them back with a bruising blow of her great forepaws. So she waited until a fish was thrown to her, although, as a matter of fact, Tommy never had the heart to keep the first fish away from her. But she would sit there and gobble a dozen at a time, as fast as he could throw them to her. Great hunter though she was, she had no skill to match against this human cunning. It was small wonder that she now and then allowed this ample provider to take part in her own kills.
    In fact, their partnership was perfect. There was only one thing to spoil it, and that was that madame was prone to sleep during the middle of the day, and to hunt morning, evening, and in the night. But even to these habits Tommy accustomed himself. After all, cubs need sleep, and, by sleeping when they did, he secured rest enough. He learned to drop flat on his back in the shade of a tree, throw out both arms, and fall instantly to sleep. Five minutes later, he could wake up at the first, silent rising of madame and go with her over some arduous trail, running beside her over the level or downhill, and riding on her back when she climbed a slope.
    He learned many things during that hundred days. In the first place, he discovered the limits of madame’s domain. He had always supposed that a grizzly wandered where she would up and down the mountains, but, in this case, he learned that madame had boundaries that she never crossed. The eastern limit was the timberline of those bald mountains over which Tommy had climbed. The northern boundary lay beyond several ranges some thirty miles from the Turnbull River. The Turnbull itself was the south line, and the western extremity of her province was about fifty miles from the timberline of the bald mountains down the valley of the Turnbull. That magnificent region she covered in a surprisingly short space of time. To be sure, it consisted of some 1,500 square miles of ground, but madame was doing her thirty miles of travel every day, and soon Tommy had seen her cross and recross every bit of her province.
    He learned the territory as though a map of it were printed in his mind. He knew every pond, every stream, every mountain and hill. He knew the big trees, the aspen groves, the thickening hedges of lodgepole pines where they climbed the upper ridges, the open places fit for a roll and a romp with the cubs.
    The cubs, meantime, were waxing big and strong. When they stood up on their hind legs now and boxed with him, he was soundly beaten. With doubled fists, with keen eyes, with dancing feet, he would circle around them, dealing blows as swift and hard as he could, and they, for a time, would miss, or pretend to miss him, but, when they decided the play had gone on far enough, one lightning and inescapable flick of a forearm would stretch him on his back with a bruised chest.
    It was rough play, but the whole life Tommy was leading was rough, and he had grown hard as nails. A grown man could never have adapted