CHAPTER VI.
THE BIGGEST BEAR IN THE WORLD.
As soon as the Boy Scouts had set foot on land Swiftwater drew the boys about him and assigned certain of the camp duties to each, directing the Indians, however, to the heaviest tasks of “making camp.” A large number of stones were gathered at the highest point of the sand and gravel, and a rough fireplace constructed. Two of the Indians, under the direction of Rand were sent across a short strip of meadow, which intervened between the point and the adjacent forest, for a supply of firewood. Rand took his rifle along under Swiftwater’s direction, for protection, and with the suggestion that he might see something worth shooting, although he was enjoined not to meddle with moose or caribou.
“Not that I think ye’ll see any,” said Swiftwater, “for they’re mighty scarce here, but it’s a poor time of year for the meat. Still, there’s a few cats and other varmints in this section of the country that don’t like strangers, and they make it lively for you.”
“Do the cats belong to the Indians?” innocently inquired Jack, remembering the aborigines’ fondness for dogs.
Swiftwater laughed.
“I never seen an Injun that cared to keep one of ’em longer’n he could let go of it,” said the miner. “I’m talkin’ of lynxes and the lou‘g’rou (loup garou), the Injun Devil, that is still pretty thick in this country.”
The Indians who had come with the expedition were no exception to fondness for dogs, and had brought two shaggy, short-eared, long-nosed brutes with them that had never barked or uttered a sound except to snarl at any stranger who came near them and absolutely refused to make friends with anyone. One of these accompanied Rand and the two Indians into the woods and began nosing around in the bush and underbrush, while the two men were engaged in cutting light wood into short lengths and tying it together in bundles.
They accumulated nearly two hundred pounds apiece; loads that Rand doubted their ability to lift, much less carry to camp. They were about ready to start back when there came from a thicket forty yards distant a shrill scream that sounded like a child in distress. At the same moment the yelp of a dog was followed by a succession of snarls and screams so nearly human that Rand started toward the thicket crying:
“Quick, the dog is worrying a child.”