In the other boat, Mike assumed a posture of dignified disappointment. “That’s the trouble with people like you,” he replied haughtily. “You never appreciate an original talent. Why, I predict in a hundred years, they’ll be singing my songs from—”
“Quiet, Mike!” The sharp command came from Joe, who was sitting motionless in the stern of his boat. Slowly, he raised one hand and pointed to the shore about a hundred yards ahead. “Look!” he said in a low, urgent voice. “Look what’s over there.”
Sandy turned and followed Joe’s finger. At first, all he saw was restless motion in a grove of trees growing close by the river. Then, as he watched, the underbrush parted and a head appeared. An instant later, a huge mahogany bear was standing on the narrow strip of beach that ran along the water. Cautiously, the bear lifted up its snout and sniffed the breeze. Apparently satisfied, the animal waddled out to the edge of the river.
“Boy!” Sandy breathed. “Think we can get in a shot?” Keeping his eyes glued on the bear, he reached around for a rifle.
“No shooting,” ordered Joe. “It’s against the law.”
“How come?” Sandy asked in surprise.
“Can’t shoot bears from a boat,” Joe explained. “You have to be on dry land. Besides,” he added, “that’s a sow bear.”
“A what?”
“A female. I bet she’s got cubs with her.”
Joe’s guess turned out to be right. In a few moments, the big bear turned around and was pushing something out from behind one of the trees. Two little balls of fur tumbled out on the beach and began wrestling near the water. The mother bear gave them both a cuff that sent them streaking around behind her broad back.