On August 1, 1815, when Angelica Longrider took her first gulp of air on this earth, there was nothing about the baby to suggest that she would become the greatest woodswoman in Tennessee. The newborn was scarcely taller than her mother and couldn't climb a tree without help.
When she was twelve, a wagon train got mired in Dejection Swamp. The settlers had abandoned their covered wagons and nearly all hope besides. Suddenly, a young woman in a homespun dress tramped toward them out of the mists. She lifted those wagons like they were twigs in a puddle and set them on high ground.
"It's an angel!" cried the gape-mouthed pioneers.
Ever since that time, Angelica Longrider has been known as Swamp Angel.
Once upon a summer in the Tennessee wilderness, there prowled a huge bear with a bottomless appetite for settler's grub. He came to be known as Thundering Tarnation, because those were the words most commonly heard when he was spotted in the neighborhood.
Before long, Thundering Tarnation had cleaned out half the root cellars in Tennessee. The settlers were desperate with no food to get them through the long winter ahead. So they sent word across the land of a competition to kill that bear. The reward for the successful hunter was to be Tarnation's enormous pelt, equal to a whole year's hunting and worth a lot more, on account of his fame.
Now, it's well known, and a fact, too, that Tennessee daredevils are as plentiful as dewdrops on corn. Pretty soon, there was a long line of men in coonskin caps, waiting to sign up for the hunt. But when Swamp Angel stepped in line, one of those buckskins called out: "Hey, Angel! Shouldn't you be home, mending a quilt?"
Says she, "Quiltin' is men's work!"
"Well, how about baking a pie, Angel?"
"I aim to," says she. "A bear pie."
Their hoots and taunts didn't stop Swamp Angel from signing up and setting out to find that bear.
Soon Swamp Angel was the only one left who hadn't met up with Tarnation. Until one morning she awoke from dozing in the shade of a creek to find that four-legged forest of stubble staring at her across the stream. They faced off for a few minutes. "Varmint," says Angel, "I'm much obliged for that pelt you're carryin'."
"Grrrr," says Tarnation.
Then they waded into the stream and commenced to fight.
Locked in a bear hug, Swamp Angel and Thundering Tarnation wrestled across the hills of Tennessee. They stirred up so much dust that those hills are still called the Great Smoky Mountains. They fought three days and three nights without a break.
Swamp Angel and Tarnation finally grew so tired they fell asleep, but that didn't stop them. They wrestled in their sleep.
Tarnation snored louder than a rockslide, while Angel snored like a locomotive in a thunderstorm. Their snoring rumbled through the earth, tumbling boulders and shaking trees loose. By morning, they had snored down nearly the whole forest.
The second-biggest pine tree in Tennessee landed smack beside them. At the top of that tree was a beehive the size of a hill, oozing rivers of honey. After five days without food, Tarnation couldn't resist.
He rolled over in his sleep and sank his jaws into the sweet syrupy torrent. As he guzzled and slurped, Swamp Angel snored down one last tree.
It fell right on top of Thundering Tarnation. That bear was dead as a stump, and considerably flatter. When Angel awoke and saw what had happened, she plucked off her hat, bowed her head, and offered up these words of praise: "Confound it, varmint, if you warn't the most wondrous heap of trouble I ever come to grips with!"
Swamp Angel decided to keep Thundering Tarnation's pelt as a rug. It was too big for Tennessee, so she moved to Montana and spread that bear rug out onto the ground in front of her cabin. Nowadays, folks call it the Shortgrass Prairie.
From SWAMP ANGEL by Anne Isaacs, illustrated by Paul O. Zelinsky.