The fish swept within ten feet of them, and then making a turn, it seemed to shake itself as if with disappointment and anger, and, dashing along like a steamboat for a short distance, it raised its tail in the air and disappeared.
“What was that thing?” asked Chap, as soon as he could find voice to speak.
“Can’t say,” answered Phœnix, his face still pale, “unless it was a shark.”
“It couldn’t be that,” returned Chap. “It must have been a porpoise, or something of that kind.”
“Porpoises don’t chase people,” said Phœnix, “and that creature came after you, Chap. He must have seen you when you made your dive, and it’s lucky for you that he didn’t start sooner.”
“That’s so,” said Chap. “Let’s pull up the anchor and pole her ashore. No more swimming in these waters for me!”
The boys quickly dressed themselves and hauled on the long anchor rope until they had pulled the boat into water where they could reach the bottom with their pole. Then pushing her in, they made her fast to the shore, and went to work to gather up their fish and make things clean and tidy.
While they were thus engaged, Phil and Adam, hot and flushed, made their appearance from the woods. The astonishment of Chap and Phœnix when their companions ran to them and proudly held up the little bears is not to be described.
“Isn’t this something like a bear-hunt?” cried Phil. “Killed an old one, and carried off these youngsters. To be sure, Adam did it all, but I gave him moral support.”
Chap and Phœnix now loudly demanded a full account of the adventures of the others, and when these had been told and the little bears had been admired and patted and finally stowed away in an old box, which was lined with a blanket from one of the beds, Chap exhibited the fish he and Phœnix had caught, and told of the big fellow they had seen in the water.