"Huh, I ain't afraid; she's probably so badly burned, she won't think of anything else for a while. Just the same, we'll break camp," replied Joe.
So back to camp they went in triumph, their sugar packed on the sledge, and on top of the load sat the little, furry bear cub, which they had already named Whitey. Because Whitey was such a cunning little fellow he was accepted in camp, and soon became a perfect pet. He was full of mischief, however, and could never be left within reach of the sugar crocks. He broke and filched eggs, and even gnawed whole sides of bacon. To make up for his mischief he acquired many taking tricks. He soon learned to stand on his head, and beg for lumps of maple sugar, and was beginning to take a few clumsy, capering steps, which Indian Pete called dancing.
Evil days came, and as Whitey grew older he became cross, and would often bite and scratch roughly. So finally, the boys were told they would have to part with their pet. Now, as good luck would have it, an opportunity came to sell the bear to a man who dealt in trained animals. Dick and Joe went sadly to work, and built for him a rough coop with slats in front. In this coop Whitey was placed, and the following day he would be taken away. For the last time the boys visited him in his crate, which had been set behind the camp, in the edge of the woods, so that his whines might not disturb the camp through the night. Early the next morning before sunrise the team would take him away. The boys threw in lumps of sugar and things which their pet fancied most, and after shaking his rough paw, sadly they said good-bye to him, for Whitey would be gone before they were astir in the morning.
That very night, when everybody was asleep, from far across the valley travelled a great, shambling black bear. She had come from far over the other side of Lone Mountain. She shuffled her way to the boys' sugar camp first. In and out of the desolate shack she stole, stopped to sniff at the blackened firebrands, nosed anxiously about the spot where her cub had rested so long ago, when one cub had followed her back to the den and the other had been lost. Then, wheeling suddenly about, she took an almost worn-out, indistinct trail which led into the forest; and starting into a broken canter she headed toward the lumber camps.
Thus it happened when the team halted to pick up the wooden crate and carry the bear cub to town, there was no cub to be found. All that remained was a heap of broken, splintered boards. The boys soon spied out the small tracks of Whitey, and then Indian Pete pointed out two other great broad marks—the tracks of a full-grown bear. The mother bear had never forgotten her cub; she had come back for it at last, and just in the nick of time. The boys were secretly glad that their pet had regained his freedom. Surely, in the great, green spruce forests, where the red raspberries grew thick and sweet on the mountain sides, and the wild honey may be taken any day, Whitey would be far, far happier than capering and doing tricks to amuse a curious crowd.
Years after, a white-faced bear boldly approached the boys' sugar camp, and was seen by them, but they did not fear him, for they were almost certain it must be their old pet Whitey, who gained his freedom long before.
CHAPTER XIII
THE PERIL OF THE SNOWY EGRETS
In the heart of a certain dense cypress swamp, in the middle South, lies a pond of water, which is fed by many streams winding and percolating their sluggish courses through the vast swamp lands. It is lonely and wild there. This is what makes the place such a safe retreat for the birds. Each spring they come back to this spot, the wood ducks, the bitterns, the teal, and the little blue heron family. Their flashing, brilliant plumage lights up the sombre darkness of the jungles, while their strident cries make the spot less lonely. Perhaps the little blue herons are the very noisiest of all. Wading in the water on their stilt-like legs, searching for minnows or crayfish, they are almost sure to have a quarrel if one of them gets a prize fish, and then what a clamour they can make. Away off in the swamp it sounds almost as if they were screaming back and forth, "Tell you what, tell you what," over and over again.
One spring day after most of the birds had arrived at the pond, peering skyward from their fishing, they saw two specks approaching. Gradually the specks drew nearer and nearer, and finally, when they reached the precise spot where they meant to settle, straight down, like plummets, they fell, right into the swamp. Then all the other birds set up a noisy, clamorous welcome, for the great Snowy Egrets, the most important newcomers of the season, had arrived. Beautiful beyond description is the great Snowy Egret. Snow white is its exquisite plumage, that wherever it appears it lights up the dark, gloomy swamps and jungles with its purity. The beak and legs of the egret are black, its eyes a golden yellow, while from its back trails a wonderful long spray of soft, snowy plumes, which float behind like a white robe as it flies. These beautiful plumes are longer on the mother bird, and at nesting time she uses them to cover the baby egrets.