“Charlie, I’ve forgot the bait,” said Joe. “Run up to the house, and ask Sally to give you the quarter of lamb Uncle Isaac gave me. Don’t you think the wolves killed ten sheep last night for him and the Pettigrews!”
“How did they get at them?”
“There hadn’t been any wolves round for some time, and they left them out of the fold. Uncle Isaac sent the meat of one to me.”
It may be well to inform our readers that in those days sheep were folded every night, to protect them from the wolves. A log pen was built on a piece of land where some one of the neighbors intended to plant corn the next year, and a number of flocks of sheep were driven in every night. After a while the pen was moved to another spot, and the land was thus thoroughly enriched.
The next year, the sheep were folded upon another person’s land. Sometimes, as in the present instance, through neglect, or not being able to find them, they were left out, and fell a prey to the wolves, who not only killed what sheep they wanted to eat, but would bite the throats and suck the blood of all they could get at.
When Charlie came with the meat, Joe fastened it to the round stick, taking several turns with the rope around the stick, in order that it might roll when the bear pulled the meat towards him.
“Now,” said Joe, “all that’s wanting is the bear, and there’s just time enough before dark to set a spring-gun. Did you know I’ve got Ben’s big gun over here?”
“No.”
“I have. He said I might have it a while if I would make a handsome stock to it. It’s just the thing for bears. Come, go with me and get it, right in my shop. You haven’t seen my work-shop yet.”
“Have you got a work-shop?”