They had a visitor. Again. But this time Big Ben had brought his wife, Big Bertha, with him.
Helen and Rafe raced away, crossing the stream, and scrambled up a tree. Of course, neither of them had bothered to bring a gun with them. Huddled on a limb together — not that a tree would daunt those two beasts — they watched the animals approach the cabin. Without even knocking, Ben, the social clod, shoved at the door with a paw the size of a hubcap, pulling it off its leather hinges. Bertha waddled meekly behind him, growling something that probably translated to, “Way to go, cowboy!”
They heard loud slurping noises.
“Guess we don’t have to worry about eating any more rabbit stew,” Rafe commented dryly.
“Let’s hope they don’t crave creme de la people for dessert.”
“Good thing I left my bag of gold back by the diggings,” Rafe noted. “Otherwise, they’d probably eat that, too.”
“It’s just like you to think of money at a time like this.”
“What do you want me to think about? Sex in a tree?”
She darted a quick scowl at him. “Surely you aren’t still thinking about that.”
“Honey, I’m always thinking about that, especially when you’ve got your hand on my crotch.”
She glanced down quickly. “You rat! I do not.” Her hand was resting on his thigh.
“Close enough.”
For a long time — about fifteen minutes — the two bears lumbered around inside. When they heard the sound of splintering wood, Rafe joked, “Do you suppose they’re making out on our bed?”
“At least someone’s making good use of it.”
It was Rafe, this time, who elbow-nudged her. “Behave, or I’ll show you how Tarzan did it, hanging from a limb with Jane.”
“I assume this is the X-rated version of Tarzan.”
“Super-X.”
“I’m glad you’ve still got your sense of humor.”
“Is that what it is? Seems more like deathbed ramblings.”
“I love you, Rafe.”
“I love you too, Helen.” A short silence ensued. “So, how about taking off your T-shirt? If I’m gonna die, my last wish is to feast on your breasts.”
She reached for the hem of her shirt.
“Are you crazy?” he yelled. “I was only kidding.”
A mighty roar rippled over the small valley as Big Ben stood on his hind legs, bellowing his rage to them. While they’d been chit-chatting, the two bears must have come out of the cabin.
Bertha was coming up out of the root cellar through the slanted wood door, which she’d already bashed in. Bertha apparently had no social graces, either. In one paw she carried the remaining two skinned rabbits Zeb had left for them. In the other, she clutched a slab of salt pork.
Ben stared at Bertha liked she was Linda Lovelace offering him a treat.
Casting one last glance at Helen and Rafe, Ben and Bertha loped off into the trees. With a sigh, Rafe said, “We are never, ever again going to leave that cabin without a gun.”
Three hours later, after a massive clean-up effort, they assessed the damage. A broken table. Little food. Shredded blankets. Bear shit.
“Phew! It still smells like bear in here,” Rafe complained.
“Rafe, you’re going to have to go hunt some game.” Helen was seriously alarmed about the lack of food now, especially since Zeb and Hector wouldn’t be back for at least another seven days.
“Like what?”
“Rabbit. Deer. Elk. You know, wild game.”
He laughed. “Helen, the only wild game I’ve ever caught was cockroaches. Of course, some of them were big as rabbits.”
She tapped her foot with impatience.
“Helen, I don’t even know what an elk looks like. Is that the animal that walks across the opening credits of Northern Exposure!”
“No, that’s a moose.”
“Geez! See what I mean?”
“You’re a good shot. You shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“You’re a good shot, too, Miss Equal Rights. Why don’t you go shoot Bambi? I’ll stay and dig for gold.”
“Okay, but if I go hunting, you have to gut and skin whatever I kill.”
“What? Oh, hell, I’ll go hunting. But I’m not killing Bambi, I’ll tell you that right now. A rabbit, I can handle — I think. Even an elk maybe. But no way am I going to look one of Santa’s helpers in the eye and shoot.”