But Koku had caught a fine, shining perch and he began dancing around the tiny enclosed lawn in great delight.
“Stop dat ghost-dancing!” exclaimed Rad. “String dat fish on dat withe. Dat’s only de fust one. Mars’ Tom hisself can eat a dozen ob dem for his supper.”
“Sh!” hissed Koku suddenly, putting up a great hand in warning.
He had landed on one splay foot and he stood there, with the other one raised, bent forward and listening. He had heard something beyond the hazel hedge. As Rad often said, Koku ought to possess the most wonderful hearing—his ears were big enough!
In a moment he crept toward the repeated sound, his movements as soundless as those of a hunting cat. Rad came close behind him, trying to suppress a rather asthmatic breath and stepping as though he were walking on eggs. The sound was repeated—a little splashing.
Through an opening in the brush Rad suddenly caught sight of a moving object. He grabbed Koku’s bare and hairy wrist.
“Hold hard, big man!” he gasped. “Dat’s a bear!”
They were almost within stone’s throw of civilization, and there had not been a bear heard of in that part of the State for fifty years; nevertheless, Rad was convinced of the presence of Bruin.
“A bear?” muttered the giant, not quite sure what the word meant. His knowledge of anything but the commonest English terms was meagre.
The thing beyond the bushes moved. It was down beside the lake itself, and Rad was sure it must be drinking.