The pink gills were wide open and gasping, for he was drowning as surely on land as a cub would have drowned under water. With a snap of his jaws, Fuzzy finished the life story of that young frog-to-be.
The chums spent much of their time, the next few weeks, hunting bull-frog tad-poles and field mice together.
CHAPTER XXVII
PRETTY PAWS, THE PINE SQUIRREL
ONE hot day Fuzzy-Wuzz had gone to sleep in a pine tree when he was awakened by a little high-pitched bark, like the yap of a young fox.
He opened one eye cautiously. There on a limb higher up stood a squirrel, scolding him for all she was worth. But she was not like the gray squirrels he had seen. She was dark brown, and her under side, and all four paws were a rich orange color. Her tail was bordered with yellow.
It was Pretty Paws, the pine squirrel. She was a member of the Douglas squirrel tribe, (named after the man who discovered them). She must have considered the little bear an intruder, the way she scolded. Was this her particular pine tree, he wondered?
His little black eyes twinkling, he climbed a little higher,—though he was pretty near the top for even his small weight. At that she scolded more angrily than ever, fairly rising into the air with the ferocity of her barking. She was joined by her mate, who also barked at Fuzzy.
“Ha, ha!” thought the little bear, “there must be a reason for all this noise they are making. I must find out what it is.” And he wondered if such small creatures could really hurt a bear cub, as they were surely threatening to do.
The wind, which had been blowing through the tree top, came to a rest, and with that, Fuzzy caught a delightful odor. It was the odor of mushrooms. Where could they be, away up here in the tree top, he asked himself? He meant to find out, for of all the plants that grew in those woods, he loved mushrooms best. He climbed a few steps higher. The squirrels leapt to a branch below. They were now facing him, and threatening to eat him alive.