Jo Ann stopped in the act of setting the pot of potatoes over the fire as a thought suddenly flashed into her mind. “I’ll get the water,” she offered quickly. She put the pot down and hurried to the kitchen for the bucket. A moment later she disappeared down the path to the spring.
Jo must be up to something, thought Peggy.
When Jo Ann reached the spring, she set the bucket down on a rock and stood gazing at the overturned box which they had so proudly called their refrigerator the night before. If a real live bear had been the thief, then what had he done with the jars of milk and butter? she asked herself. “I’m going to see if I can find a clue. There ought to be tracks somewhere around here.”
She began looking among the ferns and rocks along the bank of the river beyond the spring in search of some sign of the marauder. Carefully she examined every track. Here were their own tracks made the night before, and the tiny footprints of a squirrel, but not a sign of big padded footprints made by a large, heavy animal.
Still unwilling to give up, she jumped from stone to stone across the swiftly flowing stream, and began searching the opposite bank. A moment later, with a cry of satisfaction, she dropped to her knees and began examining some huge tracks in the soft earth.
“It was a bear, all right!” she exclaimed out loud. “Here’s where he crossed the river—but, gee, what a big one!” Instinctively she glanced all around as though expecting to see the bear. “I bet he smelled our bacon and crossed right here.” She began slowly jumping back over the stones, watching for any sign left by the recent thief.
When in midstream she caught a glimpse of a familiar-looking object a short distance ahead. So suddenly did she stop that she lost her balance and toppled off into the swiftly rushing stream.
Gasping from her sudden plunge into the icy water, she scrambled back up on the rock. “Gosh, that water’s cold!” she shivered. “But since I’m already wet I might as well go on and see if my eyes are deceiving me.”
With the water foaming about her knees, she carefully picked her way down the stream to a large boulder hidden under an overhanging tree. Then, reaching down, she picked up the object that had been wedged between the boulder and the bank.
“Just as I thought,” she said to herself. “Here’s our jar of butter. It won’t do anyone any good because the jar’s broken and there might be glass in the butter, but at least I have proof now that those people at the cave didn’t steal our things—I can show Florence and Peg the bear tracks, too.”