“They’ve found us his hiding place,” Johnny agreed. “And will we watch it? We—”
Suddenly he broke off short to point excitedly upstream.
“A bear cub!” Lawrence exclaimed low. “He’s going to cross the river.”
“We—we’ll get on our sk-ates,” said Johnny excitedly. “Then let’s take him.”
“Can we?” Lawrence was doubtful.
“Sure! We’ll lasso him and tie him up. He’ll make a grand addition to our zoo. Come on!”
Swinging out on the shining ice, skating silently from the hips, the boys glided like two dark ghosts toward the unsuspecting bear cub who, at that moment, had started to cross a broad stretch of slippery ice. Sly silence is, however, a game that two can play at. This the boys were to learn very soon and to their sorrow.
One day the boys had come, quite unexpectedly, upon a half-grown white caribou, or perhaps it had been a reindeer, that had wandered down from some far northern herd. However that might have been, they were filled with regret at the thought that they were not equipped for capturing it for their “zoo.” From that time on they had carried lariats and, by way of some added safety, short, stout spears. They were thus equipped today as they sped swiftly, silently toward the bear cub.
“I’ll toss the lasso over his head, then you watch the fun,” Johnny chuckled.
“I’ll watch all right,” Lawrence agreed. And he did.