“If I had a good round rock about the size of a hen’s egg,” declared Kit, “I believe I could raise a welt on his nose that would put him on a fluid diet for a month! But I haven’t got any rock, and I haven’t got any gun,” wailed the boy. “All I’ve got left is my voice, and I’m going to use that right now!”
In accordance with this decision, Kit threw back his chest and let out a shout which, as he believed, must have been heard far beyond the camp. Indeed it was heard at a point more distant than the place where the machines were standing. The boy listened in suspense for an answer to his call, and was soon gratified to see a motion in the undergrowth to the right.
“Hello!” a voice cried in a moment.
“Look out!” Kit answered. “There’s about a ton of bear under this tree! He’s waiting for his dinner!”
Bruin sniffed in the direction of the newcomer, but continued to give the most of his attention to the tree and the boy it held.
“Why don’t you shoot him?”
“Got no gun!”
“Jump down and run, then,” suggested the other.
“Not me!” replied Kit.
Almost before the words were out of his mouth, the whizz of a bullet cut the air, and the bear dropped, floundering and gasping, to the ground.