Free Bravado's House of Blues by John A. Pitts Page A

were supposed to be taking down to the river to pound rocks with?”
    The bear chuckled, which put me a little to the side of angry, cause of course he was mostly right—one small bag of gold, a sack with a crust of bread and a rind of cheese, and a large bag of laundry I was supposed to have washed for my mistress before that old witch snatched me up from the river. “And why is it any of your business, jack-n’ape?”
    That sure knocked the grin off his face.
    We stood there, eye-balling one another, waiting. The light of the rising sun settled across the open ground, pushing the shadows off the grassy hillock and across the stony field below the oak.
    “I believe you might want to be more polite to your betters,” Jack snapped.
    Then it was my turn to laugh. “Betters?” I asked. “Why, all I sees is a boy in short pants playing with a smelly old bear.”
    Both Jack and the bear stood up straight, heads back like I’d just slapped ’em, which I think they deserved at that point in the conversation.
    “I’m tired, and hungry. If you think you are so high-and-mighty, why don’t you fetch me some breakfast?”
    “Now, why in the whole wide world would I go and fetch vittles for an ornery girl who tells tales and insults strangers?”
    “Oh, well,” I said, shuffling my feet and glancing at my toes. “If you think it’s too hard, I guess I’ll just eat this here bag of gold instead.”
    They laughed a might until I reached down and pulled a bit of yellow cheese from the second bag, rattled a few coins in the smallest bag, and popped the cheese into my mouth.
    “Now wait one little minute,” Jack said and strode up the hill. He and the bear put their heads together and talked for the longest time. When they was done, Jack looked down the hill at me and clasped his arm over the bear’s broad back. “If we promise to go off and fetch you a bite, would you be willing to trade us for that bag of gold you was so willing to eat?”
    “That’s fair,” I said, sitting down under the oak again. “You run off and fetch me a roast goose with some plum sauce, a loaf of fine baked bread, and a bit of good sweet cream, I’ll hand you this here sack of gold.”
    At the call for goose, Jack began to bristle and sputter. Just as he opened his mouth to protest, I nudged the smallest of the bags over and gold spilled out. The way the sunlight sparkled off all those shiny coins must’ve mesmerized Jack. He stood with his mouth open for the longest time, a bit of spittle rolling off his lower lip. The bear swatted him upside the head, sending Jack into a full somersault. When Jack got back on his feet, he rubbed his head and glared at the bear. “All right,” he huffed. “You didn’t have to whack me in the head.”
    The bear grunted, sat down on his back-side and yawned.
    “Goose it is,” Jack said, stomping back to the bear. “Fresh-baked bread and sweet cream.”
    “Don’t forget a knife and fork,” I said as he and the bear ambled over the hill. He tossed back a look that set me to laughing.
    I pushed the gold back into the sack, tucked the three bags deep into the roots of the oak, and curled up besides them to sleep. Three days and nights I slept under that oak, eating a bit of bread, and drinking from the nearby crick. Before you know it, the sun was dipping toward the west of the fourth day when I heard the sound of bells.
    I sat up, yawning, and rubbed the honey out of my eyes. Across the hill came Jack leading a small wagon loaded with food. The bear was harnessed like a goat, pulling the contraption, and as about as disgruntled about it as one could get.
    The smell of roast goose flowed down the hillside and perked me right up.
    “Why, Jack,” I said, standing and stretching. “Time for a late lunch?”
    “Time for you to give over one of those sacks of gold,” he said sourly.
    “What happed that it took you so long?” I asked, scooping a bag out from amongst the roots.
    “That old fellah a