“Bose, behave yourself!” exclaimed Don, sharply. “Come down, Bob, and tell us all about it.”
Before Bob could comply, a wild, shrill cry, which, during her life, would have excited the old bear almost to frenzy, sounded from the direction of the clearing, which was a few rods deeper in the cane. The boys all knew what it was. Bob uttered an exclamation of astonishment, and began to mount among the branches of the sapling again, while Bert put fresh cartridges into his old double-barrel, and Don ran back after his rifle, which he began to reload with all haste. While he was thus engaged his eye fell upon Lester’s prostrate form.
“I say, Bob!” he exclaimed, “you had better come down and see to your friend here.”
“What’s the matter with him?” asked Bob, from his perch.
“He has fainted. He was frightened by the bear, and perhaps injured by his fall from the tree. I don’t blame him for being frightened. I don’t suppose he ever saw a bear before in his life.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Bob, “he says he has shot more of them than you ever saw.”
Don did not believe that Lester told the truth when he said this; but he could not stop to argue the point just then, for his mind was too fully occupied with thoughts of what was yet to come. He patched the ball very carefully, and, as he drew the ramrod to drive it home, he said:
“Come down here, and take care of him, Bob. Throw some water in his face, and I think he will come out all right. You will find a cup in our boat.”
“I guess not,” replied Bob. “I’ve no business down there. Don’t you know that that was the cry of a cub we heard just now?”
“Of course I do. But what of it?”