The hot fat was then poured off into a tin pail, and hung in a little spotted maple near one end of our camp-shed. We used to hang all our tin dishes and ladles here, for the maple had low limbs, which we had cut off so as to leave the stubs for pegs.
Underneath this tree was the great box–an old grain-box from a logging-camp–in which we stored our "salts" as it was made.
In the night.–it must have been after midnight, for the fire was out–I was roused from sleep by Ed, who was moving about the shed. I thought at first that he was walking in his sleep,–for he was a somnambulist,–and gave him a shake.
"Sh!" whispered he. "There's something sniffing round the arch."
We both peered sharply, but it was so dark that we could see nothing.
"It's the mate to that old bear, I guess," Ed whispered. "He's lonely, and wants company."
"More likely he has smelled the fat," said I, "and intends to steal it."
"Perhaps so," said Ed. "I thought we should draw some beast or other to us. Sh! I believe I can see him. Keep still! I'll teach him not to steal from his neighbors."
Ed reached for the gun, which at night always lay loaded at the head of our bunk.
Cocking the gun, he took aim and fired.