“We’re a swell lot of bear hunters, we are,” Dumplin’ panted. “Gee, Spider, look at your face!”
“Well, if it looks anything the way it feels, I’m some beauty, I can tell you that. Look at your own face—and your pants, too.”
“I don’t feel as if I had any pants left,” said Bennie. “Gee, I’m sore all over, and my hands are all torn. What are we going to do?”
“I guess it’s up to us to go back to camp,” Spider suggested.
“How are we ever going to find camp?” Dumplin’ demanded. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re lost.”
“‘Lost on Newberry Crater, or The Young Bear Hunters from Bend’—sounds like a dime novel,” Bennie grinned. “Maybe we could follow our trail back by the blood on the ground. But I got a better idea than that. Let’s go on up this ridge a ways till we come to an open place, and then sit there and wait. We can always follow the ridge down westward till we come to the road. Guess we can’t starve. Maybe the old bear will trot around past us. They don’t travel in a straight line, I guess. Anyhow, it’s a chance, and I guess it’s our only chance to get back in the game.”
“That’s a swell idea!” said Dumplin’, scornfully. “What you going to do if he does come around? You wouldn’t carry the old gun. Use your pocket-knife?”
“No, I’ll look at him between my legs,” Bennie answered. “The old bear won’t trouble us. All he’s thinking about is getting away from the hounds. Anyhow, I don’t see any use in trying to follow any longer, ’cause we’ve sure lost the hunt, and I hate to go back this early in the day. We may find a place where we can look out and see something.”
“Sounds good to me. You’re the captain. Lead on,” said Spider.
So Bennie led the way up the open woods of the spine, which were growing lower now, and presently they found themselves in a little clearing on a sort of peak of lava. From here they could look out on one side for miles and miles, over the wilderness of the mountain side, to the white summits of the Cascades. But not a sight nor a sound of the hunt did they have.