"It was in the little clearin' where the spring is," replied the widow. "No, it didn't chase me, captain, as far's I know. I didn't look 'round to see. It jes' growled and wiggled—and then I lit out, captain, and made no more to-do about a fence than I would about crossin' a hooked mat on the kitchen floor."
"Come in and sit down, Mrs. Beesley," said Wigmore. "I'll get my man Timothy and go up to the spring and look 'round. I haven't a doubt about it being a bear."
Wigmore went through the house shouting vainly for Timothy Fletcher. Then he went out to the road and caught sight of Benjamin Samson in the distance. He whistled on his fingers and waved a hand violently to the miller. Benjamin came to him as fast as his weight allowed.
"What's bitin' you, cap'n?" he asked.
"There is something by the spring up in the little clearing," said Wigmore—"something that frightened Mrs. Beesley, and growled and wagged itself. She is in the house, recovering from her fright. She ran like a deer."
"Then I'll bet it wasn't a man up by the spring," said Benjamin.
The captain let this mild attempt at humor pass without notice.
"I want to go up and take a look 'round," he said, "but I can't find Timothy anywhere. It may be a bear—and I am an old man. Will you come along with me, Benjamin?"
"Sure. If you can lend me a gun," replied Mr. Samson.
They found a shot-gun, slipped two cartridges loaded with buckshot into the breech, bade Mrs. Beesley sit quiet and be of good heart, and set out to investigate the little hillside clearing. It was now dusk. The sun had slipped from sight, and the shadows were deep in the woods. The captain carried a lighted lantern, and Benjamin the ready fowling piece.