“Don’t you know me, Balser?” gasped the other.
“Is it you, Polly?” asked Balser. “What on earth’s the matter?”
“The Fire Bear! The Fire Bear!” cried Poll. “He’s been chasin’ me fur Lord knows how long. There he goes! There! Don’t you see him? He’s movin’ down to the river. He’s crossin’ the river on the ice now. There! There!” And he pointed in the direction he wished Balser to look. Sure enough, crossing on the ice below the barn, was the sharply defined form of a large bear, glowing in the darkness of the night as if it were on fire. This was more than even Balser’s courage could withstand; so he started for the house as fast as his legs could carry him, and Polly came panting and screaming at his heels.
“’Help! help!’ came the cry.”
Polly’s name, I may say, was Samuel Parrott. He was a harmless, simple fellow, a sort of hanger-on of the settlement, and his surname, which few persons remembered, had suggested the nickname of Poll, or Polly, by which he was known far and wide.
By the time Balser had reached the house he was ashamed of his precipitate retreat, and proposed that he and Polly should go out and further investigate the Fire Bear.
This proposition met with such a decided negative from Polly, and such a vehement chorus of protests from Liney and the other children, that Balser, with reluctance in his manner, but gladness in his heart, consented to remain indoors, and to let the Fire Bear take his way unmolested.
“When did you first see him?” asked Balser of Polly Parrot.
“’Bout a mile down the river, by Fox’s Bluff,” responded Polly. “I’ve been runnin’ every step of the way, jist as hard as I could run, and that there Fire Bear not more’n ten feet behind me, growlin’ like thunder, and blazin’ and smokin’ away like a bonfire.”