FENN FALLS IN
"Shoot again, Bart!" cried Ned. "You missed him!"
Bart had pumped another cartridge into place, but before he could pull
the trigger the bear staggered a few paces toward him, and then fell in
a convulsive heap. There was no need to fire again.
"He's dead!" cried Bart, exultantly, as he leaped forward. "My first
bear, though it did take two shots to settle him." But as he saw a few
minutes later, when he examined his prize, the first bullet would have
done the work, had he waited long enough, for it was in a vital spot.
"Now to get him to camp," proposed Ned, when he and his chum had
sufficiently admired the dead bear. "We'll have enough fresh meat for a
week."
"Yes," assented Bart. "Let's see how we're going to get him back." He
raised the fore end of the bear, by his paws, and grunted.
"What's the matter--heavy?" asked Ned.
"Try it and see," advised Bart. Ned did so, and grunted in his turn.
The truth of the matter was that the bear, though not of full size, was
fat and plump, and of greater weight than the boys expected. Then, too,
the weight was "dead," which made it all the more awkward to carry. Bart
and Ned tried again, by turns, and both together, but the bear was too
much for them.
"We'll have to get Fenn and Frank to help us," said Bart and he fired
his rifle three times, in quick succession, and then, after a pause,
twice, more slowly--the prearranged call for assistance. Fenn and Frank
came running up a little later, fearing that some accident had happened,
and they were much relieved when they found that their help was wanted
in transporting the bear.
At Fenn's suggestion a long pole was cut, the bear's paws were tied
together and the pole thrust through them, and then, with two lads on
either end of the shaft, and Bruin swinging between, the journey back to
camp was safely made.
Bart insisted on skinning his prize, saying he was going to make a rug
of the hide, and the best portions of the meat were cut off for future
use. As it was desired to allow the flesh to cool a bit before using it,
the campers prepared a meal of the food they had in stock, reserving the
bear steaks for supper.
The rest of the day was spent around camp, several improvements being
made, with a view of rendering life more comfortable during their stay.
The bear steak, broiled with pieces of bacon stuck on it, was voted most
delicious, and Fenn ate so much that he said it made him sleepy.
It grew much colder in the night, and before morning there was a demand
for more blankets on the part of Frank and Ned. As there were no more,
Bart volunteered to get up and replenish the fire in the stove, for it
had died down.
As he was putting on more wood he suddenly paused, and seemed to be
listening. Then he quietly went to the tent flap and peered out into the
darkness, illuminated by a lantern hanging from the ridge pole.
"What's the matter?" asked Ned. "Did you see another bear, Bart?"
"I thought I heard some one walking around," was the answer. "It's
snowing again. I don't see any one."
He went back to bed, every one sleeping more in comfort now that the
tent was warmer. In the morning, Bart was the first one up, and he
opened the tent flap. As he looked out, noting that the sun was shining,
though the weather was cold, the lad uttered a cry of astonishment.
"What's the matter?" asked Fenn, pausing in his dressing operations.
"Some one _was_ sneaking around last night!" declared Bart. "See the
footprints!"
The campers rushed from the tent in various stages of negligee, and
stared at a track of human footprints, clearly visible in the new-fallen
snow.
"Whoever it was he came close to our tent, and was evidently going to
look in, when I must have frightened him off by getting up to put wood
on the fire," said Bart.
"Who was it?" asked Ned.
"I'm sure I don't know," responded Bart, "only it was some one who
evidently wanted to get away unobserved. Look, you can trace where he
came out of the woods, approached our tent very cautiously, and then,
when I frightened him, he took it on the run." This was easy to confirm
by the spaces between the footprints, for when the midnight visitor had
approached slowly and stealthily the marks were comparatively close
together, but where he had run they were far apart.
"Let's get dressed, and have a look around," said Fenn. But though they
searched for some time they could not find the intruder, even if his
footsteps were plainly visible, leading off into the forest.
"We'll get breakfast and trace him up," suggested Frank. "Might as well
do that as anything else."
"Let's look and see if he's taken anything," suggested Fenn.
"No need to do that, Stumpy," was Bart's opinion. "You can tell by his
tracks that he wasn't near enough to our camp to have stolen anything.
Even the bear meat is safe," and he looked to where it was suspended on
a tree limb, by means of a long rope, a precaution taken to keep it out
of the way of prowling animals.
With their guns in readiness for any game, the four chums set out after
breakfast on the trail of the unknown, midnight visitor. The marks were
easy to follow, for very little snow had fallen after Bart had
replenished the wood in the stove.
"Say, do you notice which way he's heading?" asked Fenn, excitedly, when
they had gone on about a mile.
"Not particularly," said Frank. "Why?"
"He's gone to the mud volcano--that's where he's gone, fellows!"
declared the stout youth. "I wonder what he wants there? Maybe he's
after mud turtles. Maybe he's the same man who wrote to me."
"He might be almost anybody, Stumpy," was Ned's opinion. "We can't tell
until we see him. Get a move on."
The footsteps were becoming fainter now, for the wind had drifted the
snow across them in a number of places, but they were sufficiently
visible to indicate that the man had kept on in the direction of the
boiling spring.
Just before the boys reached that phenomenon, the marks vanished
altogether, coming to an abrupt stop in the snow, but it was evident
that this was due to the wind covering the tracks with white crystals
from the drifts, and not because the man had mysteriously vanished.
"Well, we may as well go on to the spring," spoke Fenn. "Maybe we'll
find him there."
But the vicinity of the mud volcano was deserted, though numerous mud
turtles were crawling about over the warm ground, which was devoid of
snow.
"I'm going closer and have a look," decided Fenn, as he started away
from his chums.
"Better be careful, Stumpy," warned Bart. "It doesn't look as if there
had been an eruption lately, and you may catch it all of a sudden."
"Oh, I'll chance it," said the heavy-weight lad.
He walked close to the edge of the spring, which was motionless save for
the water that ran from it. Fenn was looking for footprints in the soft
ground, but he and his chums had made so many on their own account, on
their previous visits to the place, and, as they were still visible (for
the ground had not frozen), the amateur detective was at a loss.
"There doesn't seem to be anything here," announced Fenn, as he turned
to come away. Hardly had he spoken than he was seen to jump back. That
is, he tried to do so, but he was too late. An instant later he was
observed to throw up his hands and slowly sink into the marshy ground on
the edge of the warm spring.
"Help! Help!" cried poor Fenn, as he felt himself going down. "Help,
fellows!"