"It is a bear, as sure as you live!" exclaimed Max.
"C-c-course it is," Toby went on; "w-w-what'd you think m-m-made me run? G-g-guess I know a s-s-stump when I see one."
Max held the impetuous Steve back.
"Wait," he said, "and let's all fire together. This bear isn't held by a trap, and if you only wound him there'd be a pretty kettle of fish."
"Ain't no f-f-fish left; he's d-d-devoured even my b-b-bait, the old glutton!" bellowed Toby, shaking his fist toward the bear.
Bruin evidently had enjoyed his unexpected meal immensely. Likely enough he had never before in all his life been offered a fish dinner gratis. Perhaps some of these other two-legged creatures that drew near, holding the funny sticks in their hands, might offer him another nice mess of pickerel fresh caught.
So the bear stood there on the edge of the pond watching them approach, as though not a particle afraid, only curious—and still fish hungry.
"See him licking his lips, would you!" cried Bandy-legs, still in the rear.
"L-l-liked 'em so m-m-much, he w-w-wants m-m-more, hang him!"
"We'll give him some cold lead instead," declared Steve, holding his double-barrel ready so he could shoot from the left shoulder; "see if he'll be able to digest it."