noise near the place where they threw the odds and ends from their kitchen—empty tins, bits of food and the like.

“Something’s out there,” called Tom, as he and the others awoke.

“The hermit, maybe,” suggested Jack.

“He wouldn’t make as much noise as that,” said Tom. “I’m going to take a look.”

He got down a low-burning lantern from where it hung in the space between the two tents, turned it up, and flashed it from the entrance in the direction of the refuse pile.

As he did so he and the others saw a black body rear up, and then they heard a menacing[110] growl, while something big and clumsy lumbered off in the darkness.

[110]

“A bear!” cried Jack. “A bear as sure as you’re alive! Take a shot, somebody!”

Dick was the first to grab his gun, and, taking the best aim he could, he pulled the trigger. Following the flash and the report the boys heard a yelp as of pain.

“You winged him!” cried Bert. “Come on, we can get him!”

He would have rushed from the tent, lightly clad as he was, had not Tom grabbed him.

“Hold on,” urged our hero. “Don’t do anything rash.”

“Why not?”

“Because that bear—if that’s what it was—is far enough off by now. And besides, he’s probably only wounded. Dick’s gun doesn’t carry a heavy enough bullet to fetch a bear down in one shot, unless it went right into the brain. And again, you’re not exactly dressed for a tramp through the woods at midnight,” and Tom glanced at his friend’s bare feet. “Wait until morning,” he advised, “and maybe we can trail him.”

Morning showed them some drops of blood, and marks in the soft earth that were undoubtedly the tracks of a big bear.

“Oh, if we can only get him!” exclaimed Dick,[111] with enthusiasm. “Maybe he’s worse wounded than we think.”

[111]

But though they tramped about nearly all that day they did not come upon any traces of bruin, and they had to give up the chase, though they did so reluctantly.

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