But the other shook his head in the negative. He seldom jumped at conclusions as did Sandy, and usually weighed his words before speaking.
"Hardly that, boy," he observed; "we would have heard their howls before this. And besides, we have good reason to know that wolves are arrant cowards in the daytime."
"Well, let us run on again, for evidently Pat is in need of help. This may pay him back for dragging me out of that quicksand last summer, when I thought my last hour had arrived," and Sandy once more started on a trot in the direction of the spot whence the shouts arose.
Soon another sound mingled with the cries of the Irish trapper.
"It must be a bear!" said Sandy over his shoulder, as he ran.
Bob was of the same opinion, for the ferocious growls that came down the breeze could surely have been produced by no other among the woods creatures.
Then they burst through a thicket, and suddenly came in sight of a spectacle so remarkable that both boys stood still to gape and grin.
A rather stout man was sitting up in the wreck of an old tree, kicking furiously at a lean black bear, just below him, that was striking with his claws in the endeavor to fasten upon the legging of the other's foot.
While he thus kicked, the man in fringed buckskin was constantly talking, often giving vent to a shout of joy when his foot chanced to land against the head of his hairy enemy.