When the prospector fell asleep

On a blanket on some rocks next to a boulder under a tree among the pine needles lay a tired old prospector. Too tired to cook, the old man used a good sack of beans for a pillow. The faint smell of bear poop kept his danger sense awake but the rest of him collapsed in slumber.
This was his dream:
“Hello, Cracky!” said the barman.
The old prospector looked around the most fantastic saloon he had ever seen. The women who worked there were gorgeous.  The whiskey was on tap along with beer.  The piano player was a retired president.

The old man was suddenly awakened by the moist nose and warm breath of a bear. Somewhat comforted, most of his body wanted to go back to sleep. But before the internal debate could transpire, the bear bit into his head like an apple. Not a mealy roma but a hard, crisp granny smith.
There was no gold anywhere.

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