“Yes, I will. But not another word tonight.”
Plum walked slowly to his tent and the other boys followed to their own. Ted looked to see if little Tommy Clayton was with them, but the small boy was over in front of his own tent, looking on. As Ted walked back to his tent they all scattered and were soon undressing, the lights going out one by one.
The night was quiet and uneventful.
In the morning something radically different claimed their attention. One of the boys, looking out of the tent, cried in an excited voice that there was a bear in the camp. Every head was thrust out of the flaps, and sure enough, there near the dead embers of their fire, was a small brown bear, sniffing around a spot where some beans had been dropped. The cries of the boys made him lift his head, and he stared at them with his small, piggy eyes.
“Oh, will he attack us?” a boy asked, in Buck’s tent.
“No, unless he is pretty desperate for food, and I don’t see why he should be at this time of the year,” answered Buck. “I think I can get rid of him.”
Buck reached into his duffle bag. Drummer stared in fascination at the undecided bear.
“Gosh, suppose he ate one of us!” he said.
Charlie Wells grinned at him from another tent. “I think he came down here just on purpose to get you, Drummer!” he said. “He probably heard that you eat more than anybody else, and he is here to make a meal of you. If we had to throw somebody out to him to keep him quiet, we’d throw Drummer, wouldn’t we, fellows?”
“Sure!” came in a chorus.