“Yes, and just like he did with the bob-cat; only this time, he hacked off the claws from all four feet. Must mean to have ’em made into a war necklace, Indian fashion,” observed Allan.
“Looks some like a slaughter-house around here,” Giraffe said. “The bear bled from every wound. They told us a grizzly could stand any amount of lead, and now I believe it. Why, at that close range, them buckshot in his gun just tore in like a great big fifty-eight slug. Oh! what a sight, if Davy had only been here with his snapshot box.”
“But I can see that Hank and Pierre came right along in,” observed Step Hen.
“Yes, and looked around, just like we’re doing now,” Allan remarked.
“I’m some surprised that they didn’t capture the skin of the bear,” the other went on. “Bumpus couldn’t take it off, because that’s one thing he hasn’t learned—yet. But surely Hank or Pierre must be old trappers enough for that.”
But Allan shook his head.
“They looked at it, and quickly decided it wasn’t worth taking,” he said. “First place, Bumpus had hacked all the fierce claws off, and they’re the best part of a grizzly pelt, I’m told. Then our chum had, as you can see, just about riddled the hide; shot holes through every which way. That’s probably why they didn’t bother trying to take the skin off the bear.”
“But—did they keep on after Bumpus?” asked Giraffe.
“I’m sorry to say they did,” admitted Allan, who with his customary alertness had been looking around, and taking note of things.
“That means, we will be on the move again,” Giraffe declared.