Bennie sighed with comical exaggeration. “Oh, of course, I’ll go if you want to,” he answered. “I strive to please.”
Everybody laughed except Spider. “Are you going to kill the bear?” he questioned.
“No, indeed,” said Pep. “We catch ’em by the tail out here in Oregon, and then tie a blue ribbon round their necks, so they’ll look prettier as they gambol through the woods.”
Spider bit his lip as if he was angry, and was trying not to make a rude reply.
“That’s all right, too,” he finally said, “but some folks like to kill wild animals and some folks don’t. I’m one of the ones who doesn’t. Bears don’t do any harm. I’d like to see one, and see Mr. Stone get a picture of it. Hunting with a camera is harder, and better sport, I think.”
“I’ll say it’ll be hard, all right,” said Pep. “Wait till you see the stuff you’ll have to carry your camera through! As for the shooting, Newberry Crater is a State bird and game refuge, and you have to get permission to hunt bears on it; but I’ve got that O. K., because they want the bears killed off. All they ask is that you report the stomach contents.”
“I’ve just got something new I’ve not shown any of you yet,” Mr. Stone now put in. “It was waiting for me here, in my mail. It’s a movie camera no bigger than a kodak, which works with a spring instead of a crank, and takes twenty-five feet at a time. I can carry it in the pocket of a hunting coat. It’s for just such a time as this, when the big camera couldn’t be taken along. I’d like to try it—that is, if you can guarantee the bear.”
“What’ll happen to me if I don’t produce the bear?” Pep demanded.
“We’ll take your horse, and make you walk home,” the doctor said.
“Easy! It’s only thirty miles! Shall we start tomorrow morning?”