The old hunter had his rifle in his hands, and now he ran to meet Fred, who was coming up with his fishing rod and a string of fish. The stout youth was tremendously excited, and, reaching the pile of traps on the ground, he went sprawling headlong, while his catch scattered in all directions.
“I see him!” exclaimed Joel Runnell, as the bear came into view, a shaggy black fellow, weighing several hundred pounds. The animal was among the trees, and to get a fair shot at the creature was next to impossible.
Boy and beast had come up to Snow Lodge on the side upon which the partly barred window was located, so it was easy for Hiram Skeetles and Dan Marcy to note what was taking place without exposing themselves to danger.
“Is it really a bear?” questioned the real estate dealer, in a nervous voice.
“It is,” announced Marcy. “And a right big fellow, too. Like as not he’ll give ’em a stiff fight. He looks hungry enough to tackle most anything.”
“Do you—er—think he can get in here?”
“Not unless he comes in by this window, and we can shoot him if he tries that.”
“Let us try to close up the opening,” came from Hiram Skeetles, and he hurried to the pile of wood to get a stick for that purpose.
In the meantime the bear had reached the edge of the clearing, and there he stood, upright, viewing the situation. The smell of fish was tantalizing to his empty stomach, but the sight of two human beings instead of one made him hold back.
Bringing up his rifle, Joel Runnell took the best aim possible and fired. When the smoke cleared away, it was seen that the bear had been hit in the front leg, but not seriously wounded. With a growl of pain and rage, the disappointed beast dropped on all fours, turned, and sped into the woods with all the speed at his command.