“This way; to your guns, boys!” cautiously called out the professor, whose notice had likewise been caught by those unusual sounds, and who had already armed himself with his pet dynamite gun.
“Careful! He'll make a break for us at first sight, unless—down close, and crawl for it, brother!”
Bruno set the good example, and Waldo was not too proud of spirit to humble himself in like manner. Although this was their first glimpse of “Old Eph” in his native wilds, both brothers entertained a very respectful opinion of his prowess.
Under different circumstances their expectations might have been more fully met, but just now the grizzly seemed wholly occupied with the buffalo bull, whose sturdy bulk and armed front so resolutely opposed his further progress towards that common goal, the pool of water.
The boys quickly reached the flying-machine and gripped the Winchester rifles which Professor Featherwit had drawn forth from the locker at first sight of the dangerous game. Thus armed, they felt ready for whatever might come, and stood watching yonder rivals with growing interest.
“Will you look at that, now?” excitedly breathed Waldo, eyes aglow, as he saw the bull cock its tail on high and tear up the soft soil with one fierce sweep of its cloven hoof, shaking head and giving vent to a low but determined bellow.
“It means a fight unto the death, I think,” whispered the professor.
“It's dollars to doughnuts on the bear,” predicted Waldo. “Scat, you bull-headed idiot! Don't you know that you're not deuce high to his ace? Can't you see that he can chew you up like—”
“Are you mighty sure of all that, boy?” laughingly cut in Bruno; for at that moment the buffalo made a sudden charge at his upright adversary, knocking the grizzly backward in spite of its viciously flying paws.
“Great Peter on a bender! If I ever—no, I never!”