The Bear with No Name

Chapter Six

Paranoia was what that drove the entire camp. A complex perimeter guard system was put in place, the roads leading into the Hundred Acre Wood were patrolled by possemen, many could not sleep, for fear that the Bear With No Name would slit their throats in the night. The people who cooked were placed under strict surveillance should poison be slipped into the food.

Christopher Robin spent his evenings playing dominoes by the fire with Wilhelm and the sheriff, and in the end, he won two dollars, Wilhelm, five, and the sheriff, eight.

A doctor had checked on Roo, and proclaimed that Roo had entered a coma that would last several days. During that time, Wilhelm had disassembled and cleaned Roo's carbine all in a Saturday afternoon, going as far as to ordering new ammunition to be ferried in by a rider from Lashby.

"No activity from inside the house." Wilhelm remarked, leaning against a oak.

"I'm not surprised." Christopher Robin replied, "He probably stocked his shelves full of supplies. Food, drinks, medicine. Eventually he would run out. Eventually."

"Well, let's hope that day comes sooner or later." The young man sighed and scratched his head, then went down the path to the creek to fill his canteen.

*****

"He hasn't come out for a week!" Wilhelm exclaimed, "I suspect something else is going on, like he's digging a tunnel underneath the ground!"

"Like I said, he will come out any time now." The sheriff picked dirt out from beneath his fingernails.

"I don't think that he would be tunneling out." Christopher Robin replied, and took a sip of his coffee, "I have a friend at the Disney Imperial Library pull out the original plans of Pooh's house. The previous owner, Mr. Saunders, installed wooden floorboards inside that were so tightly packed that it's hard to pull one out without demolishing the entire floor. Besides, the ground below the floorboards is granite that he needs explosives to get through."

Roo drank the last of his beef stew and tossed his tin bowl aside. Ever since he awoke to the world, he had a ravenous appetite.

Christopher Robin stared glumly at the ground. The posse was getting agitated, and they wanted to home. So was it time?

Christopher Robin turned to Wilhelm.

"Wilhelm, get the men to surround Pooh's house. The stakeout is over. Organize some of the men into three parties."

Wilhelm ran to tell all. The entire posse let out a whoop and ran forward, guns at the ready.

Christopher Robin picked up his shotgun and watched as three parties were organized. Clockwork.

Roo watched in awe as Christopher Robin pointed out the plan. First party would break down the door. The second party would rush in, and the third would provide covering fire. All others would surround the house and fire should Pooh make a run for it.

The men would eager, but many wouldn't willing to submit to cajoling, knowing that it would lead to a certain death.

In the end, what was supposed to be three groups of five men turned into one party of two, deeply nervous but adrenaline pumped men.

"Wilhelm, Sheriff, you join the party!" Christopher Robin shouted.

The sheriff and Wilhelm shrugged.

"We must direct the men. You go in." The sheriff replied, matter of factly.

Christopher Robin joined the party of two, leaving Roo to spectate, which was fine with him.

"On my count, men!" The sheriff shouted, "Remember, we have each other's backs! We will prevail! We will finish what we have started!"

"One. Two. THREE!"

Christopher Robin smashed through the hastily nailed wooden doors with a swift bash of his shotgun stock and kicked the door down.

There was a blur of yellow inside, and for a brief moment, Christopher Robin saw Pooh's face, then a revolver being drawn, cocked, and a blinding flash.

Christopher Robin barely had time to pull his own trigger before a searing pain hit his chest, arms, thigh.

Christopher Robin's body hit the wooden floor with a thump of finality. In his rapidly dying vision, he could make out the forms of the two men of his party, obscured in smoke and blinding flashes, firing at what was once was his childhood friend, several lifetimes ago.

Christopher Robin suddenly heard himself as a child, young and naive, speaking to him from a source he could not pinpoint.

"I always get to where I am going, by walking away from where I've been."