They said no more, but marched straight on over the woodland trail. Tillie was strong and fast. There was no questioning that. She was in a hurry, too. She led the way, and the city girl experienced difficulty in holding the pace.
She had dropped a little behind. Tillie was around a curve and out of sight, when of a sudden she heard a piercing scream. The next moment she beheld Tillie nimbly climbing a tree.
The cause was not far to seek. Despite her efforts at self control, she burst out laughing. Down the path came a big brown bear. The bear wore a leather collar set with mother-of-pearl.
When she could stop laughing she screamed to Tillie: “You don’t have to be afraid of him. He’s our pet bear, Tico.”
But what was this? Tico, if Tico it be, marched straight at her. He showed all his teeth in an ugly snarl. Florence promptly followed Tillie up the tree. From this point of vantage she was able to make a more careful study of the bear and to discover that he was not Tico after all. He was not as large as Tico. His collar, though somewhat like Tico’s, was utterly different in design.
“The final laugh is on me,” she said, almost gayly.
“No,” replied Tillie. “It’s on me. There’s a tourist party of ten autos coming to our camp. They’ll be there in two hours. They’ve got to have bait. You can’t catch minnies in a tree.”
This, Florence admitted, was true. However, the bear did not keep them prisoners long. For, after all, he was someone’s tame bear and had eaten his breakfast. After sniffing at Tillie’s net and enjoying its fishy smell, he ambled off, leaving them to continue their journey, which they did at redoubled speed.
As they hurried down the trail, one thought occupied Florence’s mind. “That bear,” she told herself, “belongs to those gypsies. And he’s nearer our camp right now than the gypsies have been.” She was thinking once more of Petite Jeanne.