An enormous fellow of the ordinary black species had been descried by Tom and Jim when less than a hundred yards away, and he was advancing straight toward the spot where the three were standing.
They were in dead earnest, therefore, when they fled, calling to Bob the frightful news.
Had not Bob just played a joke on them he would not have doubted their sincerity, so that in one sense his peril was a punishment for his own misdoing.
It need not be said that the laughter on Bob Budd’s lips froze, and he made a break after his companions, who had so much the start of him.
“Gracious!” he muttered, “I didn’t think they were in earnest; I’m a goner this time sure.”
Nevertheless he had no thought of sitting down and waiting to be devoured by bruin, who lumbered along in his awkward fashion, rapidly drawing near him.
Bob’s hat went off, his gun was flung from his hand, and with one bound he landed far beyond the edge of the streamlet and made after his friends, throwing terrified glances over his shoulder at the brute, which took up the pursuit as though it was the most enjoyable sport he had had in a long time.
Once more the exasperating vines got in the way, and the panic-stricken fugitive fell sprawling on his hands and knees, bounding instantly to his feet and making for the tree where his friends had secured refuge.
By this time the bear was almost upon him, so close indeed that he reached out one of his paws to seize his victim.
No words can picture the terror of Bob Budd when he felt the long nails scratching down his back and actually tearing his coat, but bruin was a few inches too short, and the youth made such good time that he struck the tree a number of paces in advance of his pursuer.