The contest was terminated then and there. Pomp was the victor.
The darky naturally felt a bit elated to think that he had slain two grizzlies with so little exertion.
“Sakes alibe, what will Marse Frank say to dat when he comes back?” muttered Pomp. “I fink he will hab dem critters’ skins fo’ his house in Readestown.”
Pomp even thought of attempting to skin the bears himself.
But a fresh emergency at that moment claimed his attention and he was unable to do so.
In pulling the whistle valve of the Man it had not occurred to Pomp that any serious result could accrue therefrom.
But as it happened, it was the certain way of letting his foes know of his presence in the vicinity.
A roving party of the greasers, ten in number, had heard the whistle.
At once they decided to descend upon the invention and if possible capture it.
They bore down upon the spot full sail, and Pomp’s first apprisal of their presence was in the shape of a loud shout as the party swung into view from behind the clump of trees below.