Lawrence groaned as he saw open water ahead. To his added terror, he saw that the river narrowed at that point. That the bear could outrun him on land he knew all too well.
“Got to be an artful dodger,” he told himself.
At that moment how he rejoiced that he had trained himself as a hockey skater. Swinging about in a half circle, he sped toward the right-hand bank. But the bear was there ahead of him.
Just as she reared up for a sledge-hammer blow, the boy whirled squarely about and shot away to left. Again he was too late for a safe passage, but not so much too late. He was gaining. Three more times, then with a joyous intake of breath he shot past the bear and was away.
In the meantime, Johnny, safe for the moment from the mother bear, had hastily unwound the surprised cub, then had rushed him with such speed that the rope was off his neck before he could lift a paw. The cub was free. So was Johnny. And there were no regrets.
“Johnny,” said Lawrence as he joined his companion five minutes later, “I don’t think we want any bears in our zoo. They’re too playful.” They were to change their minds about this, but that was to come sometime later.
“That,” said Johnny with a chuckle, “was almost funny.”
“Yes,” Lawrence agreed, “almost.” He did not laugh. “Almost, but not quite.”
A moment later he exclaimed, “Johnny! Where are the otters? We can’t lose them.”
“They’ll probably hunt us up. They—” Johnny broke off short. “Look!” he murmured low. “Look! There’s the silver fox. He’s out of his hole. He—he’s going to cross the ice.”