"How did this happen?" I said to the Italian, feeling very much
inclined to give him a dollar for the good offices of the beast.
The man began immediately to pour out an explanation upon me. His
English was as badly broken as the torn parts of my tire, but I had no
trouble in understanding. The bear had got loose in the night. He had
pulled up a little post to which he had been chained. The man had not
known it was such a weak post. The bear was never muzzled at night. He
had gone about looking for something to eat. He was very fond of
India-rubber--or, as the man called it, "Injer-rub." He always ate up
India-rubber shoes wherever he could find them. He would eat them off
a man's feet if the man should be asleep. He liked the taste of
Injer-rub. He did not swallow it. He dropped it all about in little
bits.
[Illustration: BUT WE WERE NOT ALONE]
Then the man sprang towards me and seized the injured wheel. "See!" he
exclaimed. "He eat your Injer-rub, but he no break your machine!"
This was very true.
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