“Oh! I know what he’s hoping to do,” sang out Bumpus. “He wants to fish up Step Hen’s gun, that lies just below him, where Step Hen dropped it.”
“That’s the stuff!” declared Davy Jones, excitedly, as he watched the operation.
“But look at the bear, fellers!” cried Giraffe. “He’s right at it now, chawin’ up our grub as if he could store away the lot of it. Guess he’s forgot all about us.”
“Don’t you believe it,” declared Allan. “Watch me prove it.”
With that he made as if to descend his tree. No sooner had his swinging legs attracted the attention of the bear, than uttering savage growls he abandoned his feast, and came hurriedly over, to look up at Allan with those cruel little eyes, as if inviting him to just try it.
So Thad had to suspend operations until Bruin, overtaken by a desire to once more revel in the camp-stores, shuffled back again to the neighborhood of the twin tents.
“Don’t coax him over here again, please, Allan,” remarked the scoutmaster, who was now busily engaged “fishing” with that looped cord, trying to drop the noose over the end of the little rifle, which, by a rare chance, was raised a few inches from the ground.
The other scouts were all watching his labor, being deeply interested in the result.
“Now you’ve got a bite, Thad!” called out Giraffe.
“Give it to him, Thad!” advised Step Hen.