“By Gosh, you bettair keep away from de grizz-a-lee,” warned Mose La Clede, a gaunt, bearded Canadian Frenchman, hitching his belt higher about his hips and shifting the huge quid of tobacco in his cheek.
“She’s de bad wan, and she’s ’ongry for little boy.”
Little “Whizzer” Malloy, five years of age, lifted his inquiring brown eyes and backed away so quickly that the dragging spur on his little foot tripped him and he fell flat in the dirt.
“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the big man, as he picked the little fellow up and stood him on his feet.
The big grizzly in the pole cage rumbled deeply and flung his chest against the front of the cage, biting at the barrier. The semicircle of curious onlookers grinned as the youngster backed away, trying to straighten the spur and watch the bear at the sam
