“Whe—where is he? Did you kill him?” gasped Fred, as he scrambled to his feet.
“No; I only wounded him,” was the answer, as the old hunter reloaded the rifle with all speed. “Wait here until I see if I can’t lay him low.”
“But supposing he comes back here?”
“I’ll be on his heels. You can take your shotgun and climb into a tree if you wish.”
Without another word Joel Runnell ran off in the direction the bear had taken, and soon the trees, bushes and deep snow hid him completely from view.
“It’s funny he told me to climb a tree,” mused Fred. “It’s a good deal safer in the lodge than anywhere else, and a heap sight warmer, too,” and picking up his fish, he started to go forward, when he stopped short and gazed at the traps and stores in astonishment. “What on earth made Runnell throw these things out?” he mused.
“Keep back there, Fred Rush!” came in Dan Marcy’s voice from the lodge window. “You can’t come in here, nohow!”
“Hello!” ejaculated Fred. “So you are back. Did you throw out our things in this fashion?”
“We did,” put in Hiram Skeetles. “And what is more, they are going to stay out. We’ve given you warning, and now I want the whole crowd of ye to clear out.”
“Well, I never!” gasped the stout youth. “Of all the cheeky things to do——”