The days that had gone before had been uneventful ones. More and more he had come to realize that they must have a tractor. Long hours they had worked clearing timber. Brush was burned. But wood must be saved for fires, for buildings and fences. Every day saw larger piles of wood on the cleared land.
“With a tractor and a stout sled we’d have it hauled home in no time,” Lawrence had said to his father. “Without it—”
“Wait a little longer,” his father had counseled.
So they were waiting and tonight, sleeping in Bill’s shelter, they were still waiting.
So Johnny thought and dreamed until at last he fell asleep.
Perhaps he slept an hour, perhaps less or more. Then he awoke with a suddenness that set his senses reeling.
“Law-Lawrence!” he shouted in wild consternation. “The bear! The bear!”
Something solid and heavy as a bear had landed with all but crushing weight on his chest. It still rested there but did not move.
“That’s no bear,” said a gruff, good-natured voice. “That’s my pack. Sorry! Didn’t know you was here.”
“Lawrence!” Johnny exclaimed. “It’s Bill!”