Mr. Vreeland didn’t see the boys at first, because they hid behind some bushes.
“Are the doctor and the camera man behind?” they heard him ask Tom. “Too bad the kids had to drop out. We’ll have to go hunting for them after Mr. Bear’s disposed of. They’re wandering around lost, I suppose.”
“Is that so?” cried the boys, jumping up from behind the bush.
“Well, I’m darned!” Mr. Vreeland exclaimed. “How did you get here? Where’s your horses?”
“Down the slope—tied,” said Bennie. “We kept right on old Ben’s heels. How’d you lose the trail? Get off on a false scent? Too bad!”
Mr. Vreeland fixed Bennie with a cool look, which had a twinkle behind it.
“Were you huntin’ the bear, or was he huntin’ you?” said he. “I used to know a nigger down South, where I was once, who always went out behind a fox hunt, and sat down after a bit, and waited for the fox to come trottin’ back. He’d get the fox, and the rest would get the exercise. They had to do somethin’ kind o’ drastic to that nigger.”
(“I told you so!” Spider laughed at Bennie. “Can’t fool him.”)
“You look as if the bear caught you, too,” Mr. Vreeland went on. “Did he make those scratches with his claws? He’s got nice claws.” (This last as he cast a contemplative glance up into the tree.)
“Just the same, we beat you to the old bear, however we did it,” Bennie grinned. “Who’s going to shoot him?”