Moving as warily as Indians, they dipped their paddles in the water and made for the upper end of the supposed island. They rounded the point and disembarked. Clutching their guns firmly and straining their eyes, as they gazed into the dark green recesses of the woods, they advanced, scarcely daring to breathe.
"I'm going to signal," whispered Dick. "That'll warn Bert that we're coming and he'll keep the bear busy." And the next instant the mournful cry of the whippoorwill floated through the forest.
It was an accomplishment that the boys had frequently practised, and the counterfeit was perfect enough to deceive the birds themselves.
They waited an instant, and then they heard Bert's answering "whippoorwill."
The bear paid no attention to the familiar sound, and it was evident that his suspicions had not been aroused.
Guiding themselves by the repetition of the cry Dick and Tom pressed forward, their guns ready for instant use at the first sight of the enemy.
Bert had promptly grasped the meaning of the signal. It was imperative that the bear's attention should be centered on himself alone. The only thing he found in his pocket was a jack-knife, but he threw this with such precision that it struck the bear full on the point of the nose and evoked a roar of fury. A shower of twigs and branches added insult to injury, until the great beast was beside himself with rage. He had no thought or eyes or ears for anything but Bert.
And now the whippoorwill was close at hand.
Two spurts of flame leaped from the forest on the right. With a ferocious snarl the grizzly whirled about in the direction of the shots. As he did so two more bullets plowed their way into his breast. He tore savagely at the wounds, and then plunged fiercely in the direction of his unseen foes.
But his hour had struck. Another volley halted him in his tracks. He sagged, coughed, and fell in a crumpled mass to the ground.