"All the better," said Max, coolly. "We can get a good aim at his side now; just back of the shoulder, remember, Bandy-legs!"
"C-c-count!" begged Toby, who hated to think of the bold fish robber getting off scot-free after his recent raid.
The bear was ambling off. Perhaps he had come to the wise conclusion that too much fish at one time was bad for a bear's digestion. And then, again, he did not altogether like the looks of all these queer two-legged creatures with those crooked black sticks which they kept poking out at him.
He would not run away, because, of course, he was not really afraid; but even a bear might be allowed to conduct a masterly retreat.
"One!" called out Max.
The three guns were leveled.
"Two!"
Then cheeks pressed the stocks and eyes glanced along the tubes, while itching fingers began to play with waiting triggers.
"Three!"
It was almost the roar of a cannon that followed. Three guns had spoken almost in the same breath.