“That’s so. Keep it going so I can see, though, but be ready to climb if I don’t make it.”
The head of the hammer Bob was wielding was flat and heavy. Its reverse end ran to quite a point. He swung slightly down from the limb they occupied. As the bear got four feet up the tree, the dauntless Bob reached out.
The hammer landed on one forepaw of the bear. The animal growled and drew the paw away as if easing it from the pain. Bob swung lower. He made a terrific swoop with his only weapon.
“Something cracked!” he shouted in encouraging tones. “It told, Ben. Down he goes.”
The head of the hammer had landed against the snarling mouth of the bear. Judging from the sound, the blow had smashed one or two of his molars. Dropped to the trunk of the tree, bruin now rubbed his face with his paws in an angry growling way, and the light of the candle showed blood dripping from the ponderous jaws of the animal.
“He won’t venture up again, I reckon,” remarked Bob.
“No, but he seems settled down there for the night.”
“Well, we’ll have to stay up here all night,” responded Bob.
The bear now lay flat on the ground at the base of the tree, his eyes fixed obliquely towards his treed enemies. There was no doubt that the angry animal had taken up the patient position of a watcher and waiter.
“I say,” observed Ben, after a moment’s cogitation, “I have an idea, if we want to drive the bear away.”