“Put the coffee on!” Blackie roared.
After tacking an old shirt to a pole as a signal of distress to any boat that might pass and instructing Smokey Joe to be on the lookout, Blackie drew a rough map, showing where, according to Smokey’s direction, the bear’s cave might be found. After that he led the way over the first “peak.”
These peaks were, they discovered, mere ridges. The distance was, in reality, much shorter than they had thought.
“This is the place,” Lawrence said, an hour and a half later. “It must be.”
“It is,” Blackie agreed. “There are the two scrub spruce trees with Smokey’s blaze on them.”
“And there’s the cave!” Lawrence was greatly excited.
“Not much of a cave,” said Blackie. “Might be quite some bear at that. Wait.”
With a small hatchet he hacked away at a dry spruce knot until he had a pitch-filled torch. This, with the aid of some dry shavings, he lighted.
“Now,” he breathed. “Give me one of the ropes. We’ll have to manage to tangle him up somehow. I’ll lead the way.”
“Al-all right,” Lawrence’s tongue was dry.