“I wish we could take his hide,” Sandy sighed.
“It sure would knock the eyes out of the fellows back home,” Dick said.
“No time to skin,” Toma interrupted. “Hide too heavy carry. Mister Mackenzie say mus’ travel light.”
“Yes, it’s impossible for us to have the old fellow’s hide, but that’s no reason why we can’t have his scalp.” Suiting his action to his words, Dick drew his sharp hunting knife and stooped over the head of the wilderness king. With Sandy’s help they took the old grizzly’s scalp, ears and all, as a trophy.
“It’s yours and Toma’s,” Dick smiled, when they had finished. He held the scalp out to Sandy.
Sandy’s eyes lightened. “Let Toma have the scalp. I’ll take the claws.”
Dick’s hunting knife once more came into play. The bear’s claws measured as long as five inches, and Sandy was exceedingly proud as he at last pushed them into a side pocket of his leather coat.
Toma was waiting when they had finished. The guide had his knapsack filled with the tenderest steaks he could cut.
At a jog trot they set out for the river and their campsite, and soon they were grilling bear steaks over the fire.
When they broke camp they had provisions for two scanty meals, including some of the bear steaks which they saved from breakfast. The canoe packed, they once more set out down the river.