Grizzly at Close Range
There was no story telling that night. Dinner was late, and afterwards
the dusk came earlier up here under the shadows of the great cliffs, and
every one except the two women was glad enough to crawl in early. Joe
was gladdest of all. He had to confess that he was tired, as well as
sore--and now he realized that he had disobeyed all orders not to climb
and take strenuous exercise. But he felt of his head, as his mother used
to do, and could detect no fever, and he had not coughed once, so he did
not worry enough to keep himself awake more than one minute and a
quarter. In the morning, he was awake almost as soon as the Ranger, and
sat up feeling fine. Lucy was the next up, as usual, and once more her
cheerful self. She gathered fresh wild flowers--a great bunch of yellow
columbine and blue false forget-me-nots, for the "table," while Joe was
cooking, and asked him how he felt, and sang softly to herself, and then
asked him again if the fresh, clear, morning air way up here in these
high mountains was not the most wonderful thing in the world.
"It's medicine to me, all right," Joe answered, looking up and watching
the sun come over the rock bastions of Citadel and turn to pink and gold
the snow-fields on Fusillade. "Gee, I think mountains--big
mountains--are just the best ever!"
"The best ever, that's what they are, Joe, and you're going back East so
big and strong that your own mother won't know you. You must write to me
and tell me about it, won't you?"
"You bet I will," Joe replied, turning red over his fire. It certainly
was almost like being home to have some one like Lucy Elkins be so
interested in him, and kindly and sweet. The fire was very smoky, and
got into Joe's eyes, and he had to wipe them--but Lucy did not see, or,
if she did, she pretended not to.
"Well," said Mills, after breakfast, "everybody pack. We've got a long
day ahead of us, if we stop any time to see the sights."
"And where are we going?" somebody asked.
"Over Gunsight Pass, and down to Lake McDonald," the Ranger answered,
pointing up to the Great Divide at the head of Gunsight Lake.
"Do you mean to tell me we are going over that place?" demanded Mrs.
Jones.
"Why not?" said Mills.
"Why not? Well, I'm not one of these Rocky Mountain goats I hear about."
"Your horse is," the Ranger laughed.
As soon as camp was struck, and the horses brought from the upper
meadows, where they had wandered in the night, and packed, the party
started up the trail.
"Gunsight Pass--I like that name," said Bob. "But how did it get the
name?"
"You'll see when we reach it," Mills replied.
The trail over Gunsight is one of the most interesting in the entire
Park. The head wall of the horseshoe of rocks which holds the green lake
is too steep to climb, so the path gets to the summit by working up the
shoulder of Jackson, in a long series of inclines, with sharp, steep
switchbacks every little way, to boost it a little higher up the steep
slope.
After climbing for, perhaps, two miles, they reached what appeared to be
the level of the Divide ahead of them, but they were still around on one
side of the horseshoe, and had to make their way along the tremendously
steep wall of the mountain till they got to the pass at the centre.
Between them and this pass lay a huge snow-field, two hundred yards
wide, and extending half a mile up the slope, and as far down, and
ending at the bottom right on the top of a precipice, which dropped off
into the lake. They could hear the melting water from this snow-field
falling down far, far below, over the precipice.
Mills stopped his horse, and studied the ground, while the two women
looked at the steep, gleaming, slippery field of snow, steeper than a
house roof, at the yawning hole at the bottom, and declared in loud
tones that they would _not_ go across.
But other parties had been across, and somebody had shoveled out a path,
about three feet wide, to make level footing for the horses. Still, even
so, it was a ticklish place, for if a horse once slid off, there would
be no stopping him short of the lake two thousand feet below.
"Everybody off!" Mills ordered.
"Joe, Dick, Val," he commanded, "lead all the horses over, one at a
time, and then two of you come back."
After the horses were across--and they did not have the least fear, even
when one of their feet would cut through the soft snow, and they
appeared to be in danger of slipping--Joe and Dick returned, and, with
Mills, led the two women and the girls over, and helped them back into
their saddles. Bob and the two congressmen came alone, and in the centre
of the slide, Bob made a big snowball, and let it roll down. Inside of a
hundred feet it appeared to be traveling a mile a minute, growing bigger
all the time, and finally it hit a rock at the bottom with a loud
report, and the broken pieces flew out over the hole below.
"Say, Joe," he called, "great place for skis, eh?"
Joe laughed, but not very mirthfully. The thought of going down that
slope on skis made you sick in the pit of your stomach.
It was but a few steps now, around a hanging ledge, to the pass, and as
they came out into the small level space on top of the Divide, they saw
in front of them, forming the northern gate-post of the pass, as it
were, a big rock pile shaped exactly like the front sight of a rifle--a
sight several hundred feet high.
"Now you see why it's Gunsight Pass," said Mills to Bob.
"Some gun!" the boy answered.
Those ahead moved to the western side of the Divide, and suddenly Joe
heard the girls screaming with delight. As soon as he got there, he
realized why, for never before had he seen anywhere such a wonderful
view.
Right below them, eight hundred or a thousand feet, lay the loveliest
little lake in all the world, oval in shape, a beautiful green in color,
possibly half or three-quarters of a mile long. Out of one side sprang
up the red precipices of Mount Jackson, from the upper end rose the wall
of the Divide to their feet, on the other side, sweeping around in a
circular curve carved by some ancient glacier as smooth as a drill hole,
was the precipice of Gunsight Mountain. At the farther end of the lake
the land just dropped away out of sight, and far off in the distance
they could see range after range of purple mountains. Right at their
feet, almost at the top of the Divide, was a pine tree, the only one,
the very outmost sentinel of timber-line. It was only eight feet tall,
though the trunk was two feet thick, and it was torn and twisted and
gnarled by the winds till it looked like a grim old fighter who had left
all the rest of his company far below and battled his way on up, almost
to the top.
[Illustration: Party Crossing Near Top of Gunsight Pass]
Even Mrs. Jones stopped her horse and admired this view.
"It's really worth coming for," she said.
"And how she hates to admit it," Val whispered in Joe's ear, for the
whole party was now gathered together on the edge, looking at the
prospect.
"What's the name of that heavenly little lake?" Lucy asked.
"Lake Ellen Wilson," Mills answered.
"Oh, dear, it shouldn't be--it ought to have a beautiful Indian name,
like Eye-of-the-morning, or something," said she.
"Let's name it Lake Lucy Elkins," Bob suggested. "Seems to suit you."
Joe thought so, too, but he did not say anything.
Lucy laughed. "If we only _could_ rename it," she answered, "I certainly
would find a pretty Indian name. I think it's terrible, the way we take
the land away from the Indians first, and then give everything new
names, in the bargain."
The trail now descended in switchbacks to the very shore of the lake,
for, although it had to climb up again at the lower, west side, the
precipices were so steep in between that the only way to get from one
point to the other was to descend to the shore.
"And this water is really going to the Pacific Ocean," said Mr. Jones,
as they reached the lake. "We are over the Great Divide, Bob!"
"Yes, I feel a change in the climate," the irrepressible Bob answered.
"That's not such a joke as you think, at that," Mills said. "The climate
is different over here, as you'll see presently."
They had still another pass to go over--Lincoln Pass (not a part of the
Divide) before they could begin the final descent to Lake McDonald, and
from the lake shore they began to climb again, with the green water
between them and the tremendous red walls of Jackson, where long, narrow
snow-fields clung in the hollows. At the top of Lincoln Pass was a
meadow, on the edge of a precipice, a meadow full of snow-fields, wild
flowers, and a few stunted, twisted pines, for it was on the very edge
of timber-line. Here Mills ordered a halt for lunch.
"Charlie Chaplin sandwiches again, Joe," he said. "You can make tea if
you want to, and can find any wood."
Joe and Bob and the girls between them managed to scrape together enough
dead wood to make a small fire, and the water Joe got from the little
brook flowing out from under a snow-field and starting on its long
journey to the Pacific Ocean.
After lunch, everybody wanted to sit around for a bit, and enjoy the
view of Lake Ellen Wilson and Mount Jackson, and Joe and Lucy got their
cameras from their packs, and took pictures of each other on horseback,
of the party, of Bob and Alice climbing down over an edge of the cliff
beside a waterfall, and finally of a wonderful, twisted pine.
"I love the old trees at timber-line," Joe said. "They look so sort
of--of heroic."
"Guess they are, all right," Bob laughed. "I'd feel heroic if I stood up
here in winter!"
Almost as soon as they started again, they began to drop down a steep,
rocky trail to the Sperry camp, a chalet built up on the slopes to
accommodate the people who want to climb over the Divide just behind it
to Sperry Glacier; and then to drop, by a wide, good trail, past rushing
brooks, into the first real forest Joe had seen. The climate certainly
_was_ different over here--he began to feel it. It seemed warmer, and
the air wasn't quite so vividly clear. There was a faint suggestion of
haze over the lower blue ranges out to the west. It must be different,
he told himself, there must be more rainfall, anyhow, and less severe
winter cold, or the trees wouldn't be so much larger.
Down and down they dropped, through spruces and pines and larches,
growing ever taller and larger, till suddenly the trail went into the
most wonderful forest Joe had ever seen. It was entirely composed of one
kind of tree, tall, straight, ghostly gray trees, with a thin bark that
shredded in strips on the smaller trunks; and these trees grew so
thickly together that their tops made a solid canopy over the ground
below, shutting out all sunlight, so that it was almost twilight deep in
the heart of the forest. Not a living thing grew on the forest floor; it
was simply a carpet of brownish, tiny needle-like dead leaves, and of
dead sticks and fallen tree trunks.
Joe heard Lucy, ahead of him, saying it reminded her of the woods that
Hop-o'-my-thumb and his brother got lost in. It reminded him of some
great forest he once dreamed about in a nightmare; and yet it was
beautiful, because of the ghostly gray of the tall trees, and the utter
hush and silence of its dim recesses.
"What kind of trees are these?" he called back to Val. "They look like
some sort of cedar."
"You can search me," Val answered. "I couldn't tell a tree from a
cauliflower. Great place for bears, though."
The trail here was so wide that Joe could trot ahead and ask Mills.
"Yes, they are cedars," Mills said. "They call 'em white cedars, I
believe. The wood is much softer than your slow-growing cedar in the
East. It's a great forest, isn't it?"
"Makes me sure I want to be a forest ranger," Joe answered. "Val says
it's a great place for bears."
"Hi, bears, ma!" yelled Bob. "Val says there's lots of 'em here. Say,
Mr. Mills, how soon are you going to show us that bear? You know you
promised one to-day."
"You'll see it yet--I never break a promise," the Ranger answered.
They rode on, down through the cedar forest, for a mile more, and
suddenly saw light through the trees ahead, trotted into a clearing, and
almost immediately found themselves by a good-sized hotel, built out of
this very cedar lumber, and on the shore of a big lake.
"Lake McDonald," said the Ranger.
"_And_ a hotel!" cried Mrs. Jones. "You can all camp where you like, but
_I'm_ going to have a room with a bath to-night."
"I wouldn't mind one myself," said her husband.
"Me, too," the other congressman put in.
"Well, I suppose that means we have to sleep in a stuffy old room
to-night, Alice," said Lucy, "and eat in a dining-room with a lot of
people. Oh, dear, I prefer Joe's cooking!"
"Looks as if you were going to have a snap to-night, Joe," said Mills.
"You want a room with a bath, too?"
"Oh, no," said Joe. "I'm going to take my blankets up into those cedars
and sleep."
"You are?" Bob cried. "Then I'm with you. We won't be quitters, anyhow.
Us for the rough life--and the bears."
"No, Bob, you'll come to the hotel with the rest of us," said his
mother.
"Aw, no, ma, let me go with Joe! Gee whiz, here we come three thousand
miles to rough it in the Rocky Mountains and you go and bunk up in a
flossy hotel--roughing it with hot and cold water, and a valet to black
your boots!"
Everybody laughed, and Mr. Jones said, "Let the boy have a good time,
mother. I guess he'll fare as well with Joe as he would in the hotel.
Joe's a Boy Scout, aren't you, Joe?"
"Yes, sir," Joe answered.
It was finally settled that way, and while the party went into the hotel
to get their rooms, Joe, the guides and Mills unpacked the horses and
stabled them, took the dunnage bags of the party to the hotel, and all
but Joe found their quarters in the annex. Joe picked out blankets for
two, an axe, some grub and a few cooking utensils, and as soon as Bob
came back, the two boys carted them back a few hundred yards into the
deep woods, in a wild spot well off the trail, made themselves a fire
pit against a big stone, which was so covered with green moss they first
thought it was a stump, spread Joe's poncho for a bed, on a raked up and
smoothed heap of the dead needles, and then went back to have a look at
the lake before supper.
It was still early, and the girls were out on the pier in front. Bob
spied a canoe for hire, and promptly engaged it. They all four got in,
with Joe as bow paddle and Bob as stern, and paddled straight out into
the lake, which was quiet now as the wind died down with the setting
sun. As they drew away from the shore, they began to realize what a big
lake it is--ten or twelve miles long, with great, dark cedar and
evergreen forests coming right down to the water's edge, and by the time
they were near the middle, they saw how above these forests here at the
upper end rose peak after snow-covered peak, piling up to the Great
Divide.
"It looks like a lake in Switzerland, doesn't it?" said Alice.
Joe, of course, had never been to Switzerland, so he looked all the
harder.
"Only I like it better," Lucy answered, "because here, except for the
hotel and those few cottages near it, you don't see anything but forest
and wilderness. It's so wild and lonely! Oh, dear, I'd like to _live_
here!"
"I'd like to sail an ice boat here in winter!" said Bob.
"And I'd like to fish here now," said Joe, as a fish jumped half out of
the water just ahead of the canoe.
"Fish! Hooray! Say, Joe," Bob called, "if I get a fish early to-morrow,
will you cook him for breakfast?"
"You bet!"
"You horrid things," said Alice. "We'll probably be eating breakfast
food and canned peaches in the hotel. I hope you don't get your old
fish."
"Ain't that just like a girl!" said Bob.
They paddled slowly and reluctantly back, as the sunset lit the
snow-fields on the great peaks to the east, and turned them pink. The
supper gong rang as they landed.
"Now, Bob, be back right after supper, if you want to see that bear,"
Mills called, and Joe and Bob hurried to their camp to get a quick
supper.
All they bothered with was soup, some fried ham, and pancakes, with tea.
They had large quantities of those things, however, and didn't stop to
wash the dishes.
"This is no time to be fussy," Bob said. "I'll never tell. We gotter see
old Mr. Bear."
So they hurried back to the trail, where Joe took out a handkerchief,
and tied it to a branch.
"What's the big idea?" Bob demanded.
"Well, it's so dark here now you can just barely see the trail," Joe
said. "We could never tell where to turn off by the time we get back.
Don't want to be hunting all night for our camp."
"I get you, Sherlocko," Bob replied. "Now for the bear. Hurry up!"
The entire party was waiting when they reached the hotel, and Mills led
the way, back by another road into the cedars, which were now very dark.
A lot of other guests were moving in the same direction. After a way, a
strong smell began to assault the nose.
"Smells to me like swill," said Bob.
"Garbage, Robert, is a nicer word," said his mother.
"Well, it doesn't change the smell any," he answered.
Mills said nothing, but walked on, while the smell grew stronger, and in
a moment, by the dim light, they saw that the hotel garbage had been
dumped on both sides of the roadway. Just ahead a group of people had
stopped, and Mills led the way up to this group.
"There," said he, "I promised you one, but I see five."
"Where? I don't see anything," said Congressman Elkins.
He was standing on the extreme edge of the road, and just as he spoke
something big and dark and mysterious gave a grunt and with a crash of
broken sticks reared up not six feet from him.
The congressman jumped back and nearly upset Mrs. Jones, who screamed.
At her scream, two other dark forms close to the road moved, and in the
dim light the party could see one of these forms go ten feet up the
trunk of a half fallen tree. Peering into the dark of the woods, Joe
could at last count, as the Ranger said, five bears, two of them huge
ones, three smaller (including the one up the tree), and not one of them
more than fifty feet away.
"The two big ones are silver tips?" he asked.
"Sure," said Mills. "Want to pat one?"
"No, thanks."
"I must say, bears are dirty animals, if this is what they eat," Mrs.
Jones put in, sniffing. "I don't think I like them so near me."
"I'm sure _I_ don't," Mr. Elkins laughed. "Of course, I know these are
tame, and all that, but--well, it's like the dog the man said wouldn't
bite. 'I know it, and you know it,' said the other fellow, 'but does the
dog know it?'"
Just then the big grizzly nearest them, which was standing on his hind
legs, gave a low, snarling growl, as if he was mad at being disturbed at
supper, and Mrs. Jones announced determinedly that she was going back.
And she went. Joe, Bob, and the girls wanted to linger, but the older
people called them, and they had to go.
"Well, _that_ wasn't very exciting!" Bob complained. "Gee, you could
have patted 'em, 'most. I wanted to see you shoot one, Mr. Mills."
"I'd as soon shoot a cow as a tame bear," the Ranger told him. "You
can't shoot anything but lions and coyotes in the Park, and only Rangers
can shoot them. We're protecting game here, not killing it."
"Wouldn't you kill a bear if it came for you?"
Mills laughed. "I'd try a tree first," he said.
But Joe had noted that all the time he stood near the bears, he had his
hand on his hip, where his big automatic rested in its holster; and the
scout suspected that he wasn't quite so sure about the bears being
entirely tame as he pretended.
Back at the hotel, the first thing they saw was Val, in the lobby, with
a clean shave, his hair cut and plastered down in a smooth part, a clean
shirt and a bright red necktie on, and his best white fur chaps, with
silver buckles, on his legs.
"Oh, look at Val, all dressed up like Astor's horse!" Bob shouted.
"Where are you going, Val?" the girls demanded.
"Oh, down to the big struggle," said the young cowboy.
"The _what_?" they asked.
"The big struggle--the dance," said he.
"A dance? A dance? Where?"
"Down to the hall. Better come."
"Sure--come, Joe, come, Bob," Lucy cried, and grabbing poor Joe by the
hand--for Joe was scared stiff at a dance, being a poor performer, and
besides, he had on his worn scout suit and heavy boots--she led him off,
while Alice grabbed her equally reluctant brother.
The hall was a little annex to the hotel, and when they got there the
piano was going, and a lot of people, cowboy guides, waitresses, guests,
everybody, was dancing. Almost nobody was dressed up for a party as we
dress in the East--any kind of rough clothes and stout boots went here,
alongside of silk dresses and satin slippers, worn by some of the hotel
guests.
"Gee, I can't dance any more 'n a cow," Joe stammered to Lucy.
"Nonsense," she said, "I'll bet you can dance very nicely. Anyhow,
you've got to try just one with me."
So they danced a one-step, and Joe managed to get through it without
treading on anybody's toe.
"There--what did I tell you!" Lucy laughed. "Of course you can dance. I
don't know why it is boys always say they can't."
"I got around with you all right," Joe answered. "But with most girls I
feel 's if I had about twenty pair o' feet."
"All you need is practice," said she.
"Hi," called Bob, who had been dancing with his sister, "come over here
and pipe the pantalettes!"
Joe and Lucy went into the alcove where he and Alice were, and there
they saw a stuffed and mounted mountain goat--the first Joe had ever
seen except in pictures. It stood about three feet high, with long, pure
white hair, hanging down in a beard under its chin, and hanging down its
legs to a point, as Bob said, "just above the tops of its boots, if it
wore boots." This hair on its legs did look exactly like the pantalettes
you see in pictures of little girls back in the days before the Civil
War.
"There ain't no such animal!" Lucy laughed.
"I wish we could see one, alive," said Bob.
"I'm going to hunt one later with a camera--me and Spider--he's my chum
up at Many Glacier."
At the other end of the dance hall was a mounted sheep--a big old ram,
almost six inches taller than the goat, with a magnificent pair of horns
which curved up, back, and around till the points touched the base,
making a complete circle. Even stuffed and mounted, he was a magnificent
creature, proud and alert.
"Oh, I think it's a crime to kill such beautiful animals!" Lucy
exclaimed.
"Me, too," said Joe. "I'd rather hunt 'em with a camera, get a picture,
and leave the animal alive for somebody else to see."
"Well, _I'd_ like to have a head for my den," said Bob. "Wish they let
you hunt in the Park."
Joe and Bob were both so sleepy that they soon left "the big struggle,"
and started back for the camp. It was almost pitch black now in the
cedars, and after they had walked up the trail as far as they thought
was right, they had to hunt some minutes before they found the
handkerchief. Turning off from the path, they stumbled through the woods
till they caught the glimmer of red coals from their fire, threw on some
fresh wood to get light, and prepared for bed. Rolled up tight in their
blankets, they were soon fast asleep.
It was still pitch dark, and it seemed as if he'd just gone to sleep,
when Joe was awakened by a noise close by. He felt as much as heard the
presence of somebody or something. The fire had again died down to a
heap of coals, and only a faint red glow dimly lit the base of the
great, ghostly tree trunks close around. Joe sat up, straining every
nerve of eye and ear. Suddenly a dead stick broke with a loud snap not
far away, on the side toward the provisions, which had been placed in
the fork of a half fallen tree trunk. Bob woke up at this, with a jump
that brought him, too, into a sitting posture.
"Wha's 'at?" he exclaimed, in the startled voice of one half awake.
The answer was another crash of broken sticks and a deep, guttural
growl. At the same instant, by a sudden flicker of flame from the fire,
a ray of light shot between the trees and in a flash that was gone
almost as quickly as it came, the two boys saw a gigantic shadowy form
rear up, it seemed to them ten feet into the air.
"It's a grizzly!" Bob yelled.
"Shut up!" Joe commanded. He reached over to the bare ground beside him
and grabbed a fistful of dry needles and flung them on the fire. The
blaze jumped up again brighter, and for just a second they caught a
flash of reflection like two sparks, from the bear's eyes, and then the
great shadowy bulk dropped down and they heard a crashing through the
woods, receding rapidly.
Joe threw off his blankets and piled wood on the fire till it blazed
brightly. Then he looked at Bob, and laughed. The boy was still sitting
up on the poncho, his blankets half off, his mouth half open, and his
eyes big with fright.
"Brace up," Joe said. "He was only after our grub. They're tame around
here."
"Tame your grandmother!" Bob retorted. "I don't care if they are. Do you
think I'm goin' to sleep with a grizzly bear 'most under my bed?"
He began to get up.
"Where you going?" said Joe.
"Back to the hotel."
"What good'll that do? Nobody'll be up to let you in." He looked at his
watch. "It's two o'clock," he added.
"Well, there's a couple of hammocks on the veranda. That's good enough
for yours truly."
"Going to leave me here alone?"
"I don't give a hang what you do. You can let the old bear sleep with
you if you want to. It's me for the hotel." And he began lacing up his
boots.
"Well, I'm not going to stick around here all alone--besides, you'd
never find your way back alone in the dark."
"_That's_ a good alibi!" said Bob. "Guess you don't want to stay much
yourself."
"As a matter of fact, I don't--not alone," Joe admitted.
They gathered up their provisions and blankets, poured the water for
their morning coffee on the fire, and started back for the trail. It was
hard work finding it, in the inky dark, and every time they heard a
noise in the blackness around them Bob yelled, "Beat it, you bear!" with
the evident idea that would drive the creature away. They knew when they
reached the trail only by the feeling of hard, even ground under their
feet, but at the hotel the starlight over the lake was clear and
comforting, and sneaking up on the veranda, they spread their blankets
in the hammocks, and went to sleep again, with the soft lap, lap, lap of
the water on the beach just below as a lullaby.
Joe woke early and roused Bob.
"Say, if we don't want to be guyed for the rest of the trip, we've got
to beat it from here now, 'fore anybody spots us, and get our breakfast
up the shore some place."
"I know!" Bob whispered. "We'll take a fish-pole and a boat from the
boat-house and catch a breakfast! We can pay for the boat when the man
gets up. What time is it?"
"Four o'clock."
"Only four? Gee, it's day already, too. Come on."
They piled their stuff into a boat, took a fish-pole from the eaves of
the boat-house, found some bait in a pail, and rowed out as noiselessly
as they could, and up along the shore. Joe rowed, while Bob kept casting
from the stern. Finally he gave a yell, and Joe saw his line go under,
and stopped rowing to watch the sport. He had a big one, all right, and
it fought well. Bob was fifteen minutes in landing him, but had him in
the boat finally, and hit him over the head.
The fish was as much as eighteen inches long, or more, and must have
weighed four pounds.
"What's it, anyhow?" Bob asked.
"Cut-throat trout," said Joe. "I saw a man catch two or three at Lake
McDermott. I'll bet it's good, too. Come on--we'll have some breakfast!
Good job you did landing him, too, without a reel. I thought your old
line would bust two or three times."
They rowed in to the heavily wooded shore, built a fire right by the
lake, cleaned the fish, and Joe fried the choicest parts, with a few
thin strips of bacon, coffee and biscuits.
Then they fell to. The grizzly, the restless night, the early
rise--they'd really had only four hours of good sleep--were all
forgotten while that hot, sizzling, delicious breakfast lasted.
"Say," Bob remarked, as he swallowed his last mouthful, "I feel like
licking my chops, the way our old cat does! You sure are some cook. I'm
going to learn to cook, too, and go camping every summer. This is the
life!"
"Bears and all," Joe laughed.
"Aw, forget the old bear! Don't seem so bad, now it's daylight.
Say,--not a peep, remember, about that old bear."
"I won't say anything if you don't," Joe promised.
They rowed back now, and found the boat-keeper up. Bob explained why
they took the boat, and paid the rental for it, and for the fish-pole.
The man was good-natured and made no complaint.
"Guess it's all right," he said. "'Course, if you hadn't got a fish I'd
had to charge you more."
"I suppose if we'd got two fish you'd have given us the boat free," Bob
laughed.
They carried their stuff back to the stable, where the rest of the packs
were, and had returned to the hotel lobby and were busily writing
souvenir postcards to all their friends back at home when the party came
down to breakfast.
"Hullo, boys!" everybody said. "Where's that fish?"
Bob rubbed his stomach.
"Did you really get one?" Lucy demanded. "And you've eaten it all
yourselves? Oh, you mean, greedy things!"
"Well," Bob declared, "you folks wouldn't camp with us. Go in and eat
your old canned peaches and hunks of whisk broom and condensed cream.
Gee, Joe 'n' I have had some night, all right! Old Big Ben woke us
up----"
"Careful!" Joe cautioned.
"What do you mean--Big Ben?" asked Bob's mother.
"Oh, just our name for a pet bear we've acquired," Bob laughed, ignoring
Joe's caution. "A dear, pretty, tame old silver tip who came right into
camp and tried to kiss old Joe, but Joe slapped his face and said,
'Naughty, naughty,' and he got real cross."
"What _do_ you mean? Did a bear come into your camp? Oh, how lovely!"
Alice cried.
"Lovely! Well, I must say----" Mrs. Jones began.
"What _really_ happened?" Bob's father demanded.
"Yes, tell the truth, Bob, now you've put your foot in it," Joe laughed.
"Oh, gosh, I can't keep an old secret," said the boy. "Me and Joe--Joe
and me----"
"Joe and _I_----" said his mother.
"Well, Joe and I were snoring away like a couple o' buzz saws, when snap
went a stick, and woke me up, and Joe was sitting up already, and gosh
all hemlock, but it was dark! And then the fire flickered, and we saw
old Big Ben on his hind legs not two feet away----"
"Oh, six feet, make it six!" Joe laughed.
"Well, six, and he was ten feet tall, and growling like anything, or
sort of snarling, and I said, 'Go 'way, you spoiled my dream'--just like
that, and he went, and then Joe said he wouldn't stay there any more,
'cause he didn't like to be disturbed that way, so----"
"_I_ said it! Well, I like that!" Joe cried.
Bob grinned. "Well, anyhow, you wouldn't stay after I went, you know you
wouldn't," he said. "So we beat it for the hotel, and slept in the
hammocks on the porch till four, and then we got a boat and I caught a
four pound trout----"
"How do you know it was a four pounder?" his father asked.
"Weighed him by his own scales," Bob replied. "And then Joe cooked him,
and we had _some_ breakfast. Thank you all for your kind attention,
ladies and gents. This concludes our portion of the entertainment."
Everybody laughed but Mrs. Jones. She couldn't get over the idea that
her son had really "been exposed to a bear," as she put it.
"Was Bob as gay as this last night?" Lucy asked Joe, as the party headed
toward the dining-room.
"He was not!" Joe answered. "Made me promise not to tell a soul that
we'd been scared back to the hotel."
"Aw, well," Bob laughed, "I got more fun out of telling than keeping an
old secret. Besides, I don't care who knows you were afraid! Come on
down and see the motor boats, while they're eating their whisk brooms."