"No, I see not," answered the boy dryly. "That's what's the matter with me. I didn't have a gun. Did you see him come into my tent? There he goes. Now what's he up to?"
"Him eat plenty butter."
Him did. The bear ate two pounds of butter that he had pawed from the table. The animal licked his chops and looked for more. Fortunately the rest of the butter was suspend from a wire strung between two trees out of reach. The animal tried to get at this, failing in which it squatted down at the base of the tree where the half-breed and the boy were seeking security.
"He's going to keep us here all the rest of the day," groaned Chunky.
The Indian broke off a piece of limb and taking careful aim threw it at the bear. It smote Mr. Bruin on the point of his tender nose. The bear uttered a snarl and a growl, then began to rub his paws over the smarting nose. He danced about very much as had Stacy Brown when stung by the bees, and the fat boy shouted with glee. He shouted louder when the animal suddenly wheeled about on its haunches and began ambling from the camp.
"Me fix um," grinned the Indian, sliding to the ground.
"You certainly did give him the run," agreed Chunky. "Will he come back?" Stacy was still prudently sitting astride the limb.
"Him no come back."
"Good. I wish he had taken a slice out of you while he was here," added the lad under his breath.
"Come down. Him no come back."