One of my Bear Stories

I was just reading Jameson Parker's post about a new book he is reading, "A Story Like the Wind"by Laurens Van Der Post. He mentioned a few dark nights he had experienced, one in particular in Africa where I have experienced some very dark nights myself. This led to a memory of a story of a dark night that was told to me way back when I worked for an outfitter in the Teton Mountains of Wyoming. My friend Willy Watsabaugh related this little diddy to myself and a few other buds as we sat at the bar in Moose Wyoming on our way home from a ten day Elk Hunt.
It seems that Willy's outfit which hunted the drainage next to us had from the start of the season been visited regularly by a grumpy old Grizzly Sow. Now tensions were high in that camp and the cook was especially on edge as he often spent the whole day in camp alone while the rest were out hunting. Things had progressed to the point that the Game Wardens had flown in by helicopter and installed an electric fence around the entire assembly of tents. Still the old girl persisted and had on this day stuck her head into the Cook Tent and gave a little low grunt at the unsuspecting cook, busy with his back turned washing the mornings dishes. Needless to say there was a few deathly silent moments until she turned and with another low huff bumbled off to parts unknown. Well when the parties of guides and hunters returned late in the day they were greeted by a heavily armed, very shaky cook. He related the days events and as darkness fell there was still a group out who arrived late in the night and upon hearing the story from the crowd who by this time was armed to the hilt all assembled in the cook tent and steadily became more and more worked up. Willy, eased out into the night to go feed the horses down by the corals. There close by was a tent set up to house the tack and feed and a fellow guide stood up at the cook tent shinning a light and holding a rifle for moral support. Willy pulled back the loose flap on the tent and reached for the fifty five gallon barrel that held the feed. As he reached forward his hand came to rest on something warm and furry and as the warm piss ran down his leg he high tailed it back to the cook tent arriving from his fifty yard sprint with out taking a breath exploding in curses that, "that damn bear was in the saddle tent and this was the last straw", he had had enough and he was going to shoot that _?___?__?__?__ bear. A quick plan of attack was devised and every hand got locked and loaded, checked flashlight batteries and began a semi circle like stalk. The darkness got darker and the lights didn't seem to be quite enough to anyone but there was strength in numbers. Rifles, Pistols and knives glistened in the light of the flashlights as the posse approached the dark quiet tent. A long dead pine sapling held by Willy waved in the air as the proper approach was followed so as to avoid possible stray bullets. A last minute survey of the hoard was made just before be eased the sapling into position to hook the loose flap and pull it aside rendering the inside seeable. At this point I have to say all that were there at the bar were shaking their heads still in disbelief that they had survived the encounter. We hung on his every word as he spoke. He said, "I moved the flap aside and the lights found their mark as our old Pack Mule turned his head into the light to look at the amassed bunch of open mouthed killers while munching blissfully on a mouth full of oats." "Well Hell," he said it's that damn mule. So everybody went back to the cook tent and proceeded to get very drunk.