“Well, if you got here first, you can take a crack,” Mr. Vreeland said. “Wait till the camera man comes. I hear ’em now.”
A minute later the doctor and then Mr. Stone and Pep came into the clearing. They were not torn and scratched so much as the boys, but much more than Mr. Vreeland and Tom. And they were even more surprised to find the boys there. However, there was no time for talk. The horses were dancing with nervousness, the dogs were jumping against the tree, and the hear was moving on the limb as if he contemplated climbing higher. Mr. Stone unlimbered his camera, Spider walked off into the woods because, he declared, he refused to see a fine animal shot in cold blood, and Bennie, armed with a rifle, was told to fire, aiming at the base of the brain.
He sighted and pulled the trigger, trembling with nervousness for fear he wouldn’t make a good shot. The kick of the gun staggered him for an instant, but as soon as he caught himself he stared into the tree, to see the bear snarling with pain and rage, but still crouched, alive, on the limb.
Bennie handed the rifle hastily to his uncle. “You do it!” he cried. “Gosh, all I’ve done is hurt him. I don’t want to mess the poor thing up any more.”
“Well, of all the——” Mr. Vreeland began.
“Shoot him, Vreeland,” said the doctor, sharply. “I’m no hunter.”
The old man raised his rifle, sighted it so quickly that it seemed part of the same motion, and there was a sharp crack. The bear seemed to spring right off the limb and fell, a black ball of fur, seventy feet to the ground.
The dogs were on it in a second, as its paws gave one or two feeble and undirected swipes. Then it lay dead. The dogs were called off, and promptly lay down, panting and exhausted. Bennie wanted to go away somewhere and lie down, too. He felt sick. He had thought it would be wonderful sport to kill a big bear, but now that he had pumped a bullet into it, and then seen the creature, helpless and defenseless, come crashing down dead out of the tree, the fun was gone. If the bear had been attacking him, or even attacking anybody, it would be different. But just to shoot it in cold blood, for the sake of killing something, suddenly struck Bennie as a low down, cruel trick. He felt the way Spider always felt. He’d never been able to understand Spider’s point of view before, but now that he had pumped a bullet into the bear, he understood. He thought of their talk about the deer that morning by the rim of Crater Lake.
But Mr. Stone was calling. He’d got a fresh roll of film into his camera, and wanted to take the whole party around the dead bear. Tom and Mr. Vreeland propped the big brownish-black body up into a sitting posture, Bennie stood beside it, with a gun in his hand, and Dumplin’, with a grin on his face, walked up, grasped the bear by the paw, and shook hands with a great show of friendliness.
“You weren’t planning to do that about twenty minutes ago,” came the voice of Spider, returning to the scene.