After that they had to remain very quiet indeed, lest some incautious movement warn the bear of their presence. Jim had seen to it that both the boys had dressed warmly, even donning sweaters for the occasion; since it is a shivery job to sit for one or more hours of a cold night, hardly daring to move. The blood seems to become congealed in the veins with the inaction; and once a shiver passes over the frame, the teeth start to chattering even against all will power.
When an hour had gone, Giraffe began to grow tired. He was more or less apt to show impatience, at any rate, and had not learned the lesson of controlling his boyish desire to have things happen quickly.
Allan was just on his left, holding the torch ready for action; and by leaning that way Giraffe could speak in the lowest of whispers.
“This is gettin’ tough,” he admitted.
“Keep standing it a while longer,” came in reply.
“But do you really think he’ll come along yet?” asked Giraffe, disconsolately, as he pictured Bumpus and Step Hen sitting so snugly beside the glowing fire he loved so much.
“Both Jim and I think the chances are the old fellow’s on the way right now,” answered the comforter.
“All right, then, I’ll just try to stand it a while longer; but I hope my hands don’t tremble this way when I come to shoot,” Giraffe went on to say.
“Keep your gun resting on the log, just like I showed you,” said Allan. “That way it won’t much matter if you are shivering. And be sure and shoot just as soon as you’re certain you’ve got his shoulder covered. I won’t butt in unless I think he’s going to get away. Now, close up again, Giraffe.”
Silence once more rested on the scene. More minutes passed by—five, ten, fifteen dragging along.