Now Jerry could see his bulky figure as he shuffled forward with eager mien. The repeating rifle began to come up, though Jerry was in no hurry to fire. He wanted to get a fair view of the animal's side, so that he could bring Bruin down with a single shot.
They could hear the beast grunting in delight as he started in to devour some of the bees' rich treasure. Perhaps he had long cast an envious eye on that same tree hive, and hoped for the time to come when a storm might lay it low.
Frank held his fire generously. He could have shot the bear several times, and with the buckshot shells that were in his gun had no fear about killing his game with ease; but it was really Jerry's turn.
Finally came the sharp report. They saw the bear roll over, try to stagger up again, struggle vehemently, and then gradually grow weaker.
"Hurrah, Jerry! He's your bag!" shouted Frank, as genuinely happy as though it had been his own shot that did the business; perhaps more so.
"Oh! what a night! Bring on your bears and panthers, your crocodiles and tomcats!" cried Jerry. "We can take care of a whole menagerie. Talk to me about your hunting preserves! Did you ever meet up with anything that equals this?"
Realizing that the boys on board the motorboat must be consumed with eagerness to know what the result of these two shots might be, Frank now proposed that they go aboard.
"We want some sleep, you see. In the morning we'll be able to attend to these fellows. I guess nothing will bother them until then," he said.
He and Joe entered the little dinghy, and it was ferried across the water to the anchored boat. There they were met by both Will and Bluff, who, being aroused by the first shot, had sat there, swathed in blankets, watching for the return of the mighty Nimrods.
"What luck?" called Bluff, evidently repenting that he had not accompanied them.