A WILD MIX-UP
Just when Joe, trapped in the sleeping-bag, with the ponderous bear
moving near him, was wondering what had happened to Jennings, he felt
himself suddenly lifted from the ice and shaken till his teeth rattled.
Then suddenly he went crashing upon the hard surface beneath him.
He guessed well enough what had happened: The bear had seized the
sleeping-bag and having lifted it as a cat lifts a rat, had shaken it
violently. Then the deerskin had given way beneath Joe’s weight and he
had gone down with a thump.
“What next?” his agitated mind asked him. “What next?”
He could only guess at what happened next. Inside his sleeping-bag he
could see nothing. But that something tremendous was happening he was
forced to believe.
From the mouth of the bear there came a sudden sound like the hissing of
a cat, and after that such a tumbling and thrashing as he had never heard
tell of.
Over and over the bear appeared to roll. There were sounds of tearing
canvas and straining ropes. Once the bear rolled across his feet and for
a second he feared he would be lamed for life. Then suddenly the sound
ceased. He only knew one thing, which was that something heavy rested on
his sleeping-bag.
To realize what had really happened we must follow Jennings as he
proceeded to meet this strange and novel situation. Being more fortunate
than Joe, he had succeeded in wriggling from his sleeping-bag and in
grasping his rifle before the bear saw him. He had been engaged in the
business of getting a bead on the bear’s ponderous head when there came a
sudden tearing at the ropes of the tent. The next instant it doubled up
and came flapping down upon him.
If you are able to imagine what it might be like to be caught in a net
with a whale, you have some notion of Jennings’ position at this time.
The tent had enveloped both him and the bear. Together they rolled over
and over. One moment it seemed he would be crushed to death and the next,
as an opening appeared, a new rent in the canvas, it seemed that he might
be freed.
At last, with a mighty effort, he wrenched himself loose and, much to his
own astonishment, found that he still grasped his rifle in his left hand.
The bear was still thrashing about. Joe was still buried beneath the
tent. Jennings was just trying to figure out the next move, when he heard
one of the dogs let out a wild ki-yi-yi of fright.
Wheeling about, he saw a huge bear grasping a dog by the middle of the
back with his teeth and attempting to carry him away. Since the dog was
chained to a sled and six other dogs were also chained to that sled, it
was necessary for him to drag the sled and six very reluctant dogs after
him.
“Be funny if it wasn’t serious,” said Jennings grimly as he took steady
aim at the beast’s head. Three times his automatic rifle barked. The bear
crumpled up in a heap.
There was, however, not a second to be wasted. As he turned he found
himself staring at a towering white apparition. This apparition, which
stood some three feet above his head, had red gleaming eyes and a lolling
tongue. The second bear had escaped from the tent. Angered by his
experience and the death of his companion, he was ready for battle with
these strange invaders of his domain.
“Want satisfaction, do you?” said Jennings grimly. “Well! There! Take
it!”
With a movement that for speed and accuracy could not be beaten, he
thrust the muzzle of his rifle at the base of the beast’s skull and
fired.
Thus a second bear had just been bagged by Jennings when Joe came
creeping out of his sleeping-bag. For a few seconds he sat rubbing his
shins. Then suddenly his face lightened with a smile as he sang out:
“We killed the bear! Betsy and I killed the bear.”
“Well, anyway,” smiled Jennings, “you’re going to have one of your
dearest wishes granted. Your old dorgs, Ginger, Pete, Major and Bones,
won’t have to be fed to the starvin’ explorers. Here’s a day’s rations
for a regiment of soldiers. I bet that big bear weighs a ton and a half.”
“Whoop-ee!” cried Joe springing to his feet and rushing over to embrace
his astonished friend, Ginger. “That’s sure good news to us!”
“Sixteen inches between the ears,” pronounced Jennings after measuring
with his hands the skull of the fallen Goliath of the North. “Some bear!”
“Some bear, I’d say!” echoed Joe.
“There’s a day’s work to be done on the tent,” said Jennings. “He ripped
it up something awful. But we’ll have to make it do at least till we meet
Munson.”
“Yes, and till we get ashore.”
“Guess so. Lend a hand and let’s see what shift we can make for a wink
more of sleep before we march on.”
In a few moments Joe and Jennings were curled up in their sleeping-bags,
snoring as if they were safe in bed at home.