"They'll pretend to be almost dead just to coax you near enough, and then they'll spin round on their hind legs like a rooster. If they ever do catch you, the only thing to do is to lie still and make believe you're dead, and then, unless they're very hungry, they won't hurt you much."After half an hour's rest, the hunting instinct awoke again within them, and the boys determined to make another attempt. After circling about the swamp for some time, the boys came upon a beaten track which led straight through the heart of the swamp.
"I say," said Don, "this is going to strike the ridge somewhere just about there," pointing northeast, "and if we don't see anything between here and the ridge, we'll strike home that way.
It'll be better walking than this cursed swamp, anyway. Are you tired?"Hughie refused to acknowledge any weariness.
"Well, then, I am," said Don.
The trail was clear enough, and they were able to follow at a good pace, so that in a few minutes, as they had expected, they struck the northeast end of the swamp. Here again they called a halt, and tying up the dogs, lay down upon the dry, brown leaves, lazily eating the beechnuts and discussing their prospects of meeting the bear, and their plans for dealing with him.
"Well, let's go on," at length said Don. "There's just a chance of our meeting him on this ridge. He's got a den somewhere down in the swamp, and he may be coming home this way. Besides, it'll take us all our time, now, to get home before dark. I guess there's no use keeping the dogs any longer. We'll just let them go." So saying, Don let the black dogs go free, but after a little skirmishing through the open beech woods, the dogs appeared to lose all interest in the expedition, and kept close to Don's heels.
Fido, on the other hand, followed, ranging the woods on either side, cheerfully interested in scaring up rabbits, ground-hogs, and squirrels. He had never known the rapture of bringing down big game, and so was content with whatever came his way.
At length the hunters reached the main trail where their paths separated; but a little of the swamp still remained, and on the other side was the open clearing.
"This is your best way," said Don, pointing out the path to Hughie.
"We had bad luck to-day, but we'll try again. We may meet him still, you know, so don't fire at any squirrel or anything. If Ihear a shot I'll come to you, and you do the same by me.""I say," said Hughie, "where does this track of mine come out? Is it below the Deepole there, or is it on the other side of the clearing?""Why, don't you know?" said Don. "This runs right up to the back of the Fisher's berry patch, and through the sugar-bush to your own clearing. I'll go with you if you like.""Oh, pshaw!" said Hughie, "I'll find it all right. Come on, Fido."But Fido had disappeared. "Good night, Don.""Good night," said Don. "Mind you don't fire unless it's at a bear. I'll do the same."In a few minutes Hughie found himself alone in the thick underbrush of the swamp. The shadows were lying heavy, and the sunlight that still caught the tops of the tall trees was quite lost in the gloom of the low underbrush. Deep moss under foot, with fallen trees and thick-growing balsam and cedars, made the walking difficult, and every step Hughie wished himself out in the clearing. He began to feel, too, the oppression of the falling darkness. He tried whistling to keep up his courage, but the sound seemed to fill the whole woods about him, and he soon gave it up.
After a few minutes he stood still and called for Fido, but the dog had gone on some hunt of his own, and with a sense of deeper loneliness, he set himself again to his struggle with the moss and brush and fallen trees. At length he reached firmer ground, and began with more cheerful heart to climb up to the open.
Suddenly he heard a rustle, and saw the brush in front of him move.
"Oh, there you are, you brute," he cried, "come in here. Come in, Fido. Here, sir!"He pushed the bushes aside, and his heart jumped and filled his mouth. A huge, black shape stood right across his path not ten paces away. A moment they gazed at each other, and then, with a low growl, the bear began to sway awkwardly toward him. Hughie threw up his gun and fired. The bear paused, snapping viciously and tearing at his wounded shoulder, and then rushed on Hughie without waiting to rise on his hind legs.
Like a flash Hughie dodged behind the brush, and then fled like the wind toward the open. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the bear shambling after him at a great pace, and gaining at every jump, and his heart froze with terror. The balsams and spruces were all too low for safety. A little way before him he saw a small birch. If he could only make that he might escape. Summoning all his strength he rushed for the tree, the bear closing fast upon him.
Could he spring up out of reach of the bear's awful claws?
Two yards from the tree he heard an angry snap and snarl at his heels. With a cry, he dropped his gun, and springing for the lowest bough, drew up his legs quickly after him with the horrible feeling of having them ripped asunder. To his amazement he found that the bear was not scrambling up the tree after him, but was still some paces off, with Fido skirmishing at long range. It was Fido's timely nip that had brought him to a sudden halt, and allowed Hughie to make his climb in safety.
"Good dog, Fido. Sic him! Sic him, old fellow!" cried out Hughie, but Fido was new to this kind of warfare, and at every jump of the raging brute he fled into the brush with his tail between his legs, returning, however, to the attack as the bear retired.
After driving Fido off, the bear rushed at the tree, and in a fury began tearing up its roots. Then, as if realizing the futility of this, he flung himself upon its trunk and began shaking it with great violence from side to side.
Hughie soon saw that the tree would not long stand such an attack.
He slipped down to the lowest bough so that his weight might be taken from the swaying top, and encouraging Fido, awaited results.
