With a shout which he now declares must have been heard in San Francisco, he sprang for an overhanging limb and drew himself up. A person less agile and, perhaps, less frightened, would have been unable to escape the sweep of the bear’s paw which followed his spring.
The bough bent low under the weight of the boy, but he seized another just above it, and in a short time was walking up the tree like one passing from one rung of a ladder to another. Bruin sat down under the sheltering branches, evidently intending to remain there until his dinner should be served. Kit looked down upon him scornfully.
“Come on up, bear!” he shouted.
Bruin growled out a refusal.
“Look here, bear,” Kit explained, talking to the animal as if he understood every word that was said, “you ought to go on your way immediately, for I have two flying machines to watch, and consequently have no time to visit with you. Go on away, now!”
Bruin uttered a series of vicious growls at the sound of the boy’s voice, but refused to honor the request.
“I’m in a nice box, now!” wailed Kit. “If I only had a gun, I could fill this wild animal full of lead, but I haven’t got any gun, and I guess I’ve got to stay here until some of the boys wake up and come to the rescue. I’m in a bad fix!”
The bear did not seem to agree with the boy in his estimate of the situation, for he appeared to be contented as he shambled around under the tree, looking up into the branches with greedy eyes.
“Now,” thought Kit after the situation had held for at least half an hour, “I wonder how I’m going to shake this brute. If I let out a yell, people we don’t want to know anything about our presence here may follow the sound of my voice and make trouble with the machines before the boys get up.”
An hour passed and the bear showed no signs of impatience.