Despite their disbelief in the existence of the Fire Bear, the overwhelming evidence of the last two hours had brought to them a frightful conviction of the truth of all they had heard about the uncanny, fatal monster. Three short months of life was all that was left to them. Such had been the fate of all who had beheld the Fire Bear. Such certainly would be their fate unless Balser could kill him—an event upon which Liney built much greater hope than did Balser.
After a long time Balser spoke, in a low tone, that he might not disturb the others:—
“Liney, if I only had a charm, I might kill the Fire Bear; but a gun by itself can do nothing against a monster that bears a charmed life. We must have a charm. You’ve read so many books and you know so much; can’t you think of a charm that would help me?”
“No, no, Balser,” sighed Liney, “you know more than I, a thousand times.”
“Nonsense, Liney. Didn’t you spell down everybody—even the grown folks—over at Caster’s bee?”
“Yes, I know I did; but spelling isn’t everything, Balser. It’s mighty little, and don’t teach us anything about charms. You might know how to spell every word in a big book, and still know nothing about charms.”
“I guess you’re right,” responded Balser, dolefully. “I wonder how we can learn to make a charm.”
“Maybe the Bible would teach us,” said Liney. “They say it teaches us nearly everything.”
“I expect it would,” responded Balser. “Suppose you try it.”
“I will,” answered Liney. Silence ensued once more, broken only by the moaning wind and the occasional popping of the backlog.