“It’s only a young one. Let’s get him away from Tip, an’ take him home alive.”
He spoke too late to save the animal’s life, for just then Tip gave the small bundle of fur a toss in the air, and when it came down it was dead.
Tim caught Tip by the neck, to prevent any further attack on his part, and the boys gathered around the victim. It was no bear, but a woodchuck, Tip had killed, as they all knew after a short examination, and the disappointment they felt at not having slain a bear was greatly lessened by the fact that they had really killed something.
How they praised and petted Tip then! Not a boy among them, from that moment, but believed he could have killed a bear as easily as he had killed the woodchuck, and Tim was happy.
That night there was a skin nailed on Bobby Tucker’s father’s barn, but it was not a bearskin, and it was wofully cut and hacked, owing to Tip’s teeth and Bill Thompson’s very unscientific skinning.
Chapter X.
BILL THOMPSON’S TENT.
Hardly had the boys ceased to talk of their grand hunt when they were thrown into the greatest excitement by news which Bill Thompson had called them together to impart. This is what he said, when at least a dozen were present behind the same barn that had been ornamented with the skin of Tip’s victim:
“Fellers, my father has jest brought home a great big tent—a reg’lar canvas one—an’ he says we may take it, an’ all go off campin’ for a week. What do you think of that?”
For some moments it was impossible to learn just what the boys did think of it, for they all attempted to talk at once, and some, who could not speak as loud as the others, began to cheer, until Tip—who, of course, had been called into council with the others—barked loudly at the confusion of sound. Although Bill knew that his companions were almost beside themselves with joy at the news, it was fully ten minutes before the noise had subsided sufficiently for him to learn that fact from their words.