WHEN TOM got up the next morning he found breakfast ready.

It was nearly eight o’clock.

“You must think me lazy,” he said.

“Oh, no; you were fatigued by your journey. Besides, we don’t go to work very early.”

After breakfast Tom wandered out and surveyed the gulch with sad interest.

“This is the place,” he said, “where my father was robbed and perhaps murdered. I wish I could solve the mystery of his fate.”

“Don’t let it affect your spirits too much, my young friend,” said Dr. Spooner. “Your father may have died before his time, but he is in the hands of his Creator. We must submit to the inevitable, trusting and believing that in the end all will turn out for the best.”

“You are right,” said Tom, “but here where my poor father disappeared, I can’t help recalling him to mind.”

“And very natural it is, too.”

After a walk, Tom joined his friends in their labors. The claim was not exhausted, and they decided to remain at Rocky Gulch as long as it was worth working.

Tom did not work all day. He devoted a part of every afternoon to exploring the gulch, with the view of finding the bag of gold dust, which Mr. Darke had concealed, and then been unable to find. In more than one place he dug down, only to be disappointed. It was provoking to think that somewhere, perhaps where he had himself walked, there was hidden beneath the surface a sum of money belonging to him and his mother by right of inheritance, which would have made the family rich.

But Tom did not employ all his leisure time in this way. Sometimes he took his gun, for he had bought one since he came to Rocky Gulch, and wandered for miles over the hills, or through the valleys, shooting a bird or a squirrel, according to the opportunities he had.

One day he took for an entire holiday; he was alone, Mr. Brush being rather indisposed, and the doctor being in attendance upon him.

Having so much time at command, he wandered further than ever before. He had not had much sport. In fact his thoughts were upon his home, and he walked on without much thought of the scene about him, when there came to his ears, borne by the wind, a shout, which sounded very much like “Help! help!”

This roused Tom instantly, and brought back his thoughts to the present.

Whence came the voice?

He could not immediately determine. He looked about him, but could see no person. But he saw something else which sufficiently startled him.

Squatting beneath a large tree was a huge bear, which, from his appearance, Tom instantly recognized as a grizzly. He knew, though he had never seen one before, that the grizzly bear of California is stronger and more formidable even than the lion, being just the sort of stranger which a prudent man would be most anxious to avoid.

Tom started back in alarm, but the bear had not yet seen him. In fact, the attention of the huge animal seemed otherwise directed. He was looking up into the tree.

Following his gaze, Tom solved the mystery of the voice. Crouching among the branches was a well-dressed man, who looked exceedingly uncomfortable.

The bear below was “holding the fort,” and as long as he remained there the man did not dare to come down.

“But why didn’t the bear climb the tree?” some of my readers may be tempted to ask.

For the reason that the grizzly bear, at any rate, when fully grown, seldom or never climbs. He leaves that to the more common species.

As long, therefore, as the besieged party remained in the tree, he was safe. But it was hardly a position in which he could feel comfortable in his mind. Peering anxiously around, he at length espied our hero, whom he had not before seen, and called out:

“Boy, have you got a gun with you?” “Yes, sir.”

“Then shoot that confounded grizzly, who is waiting for me at the foot of the tree.”

“Suppose I miss him,” suggested Tom.

“Then you must look out for yourself. He will transfer his attention from me to you.”

“That would be rather serious.”

“You needn’t miss him. Aim just behind the ear.”

“I will try.”

“If he chases you climb up the nearest tree.”

Close to Tom was a tree which he judged that he could climb easily. This gave him a chance of escape in case he should fail to disable the huge beast.

By this time the bear had discovered Tom, but, apparently thinking him unworthy of notice, he just growled a little and resumed his post beneath the tree.

“It’s me he wants,” cried the man besieged. “Ugh, you brute! I wish I could wound you mortally, and see your dying agonies.”

The bear listened very complacently, evidently feeling that the advantage was on his side.

“Come, boy, are you going to shoot?” asked the man in the tree.

Tom did not answer.

He was carefully taking aim. He was fully conscious that his own personal safety depended upon the effectiveness of his shot. In fact, his safest course would have been to leave the spot and the beleaguered man to his fate. But Tom was not that kind of a boy. He was bold and courageous, and he would have been ashamed if he had coolly deserted a man whom it was in his power to help, at however great danger to himself.

So he quietly and carefully took aim, and then pulled the trigger.

The grizzly uttered an angry growl, and correctly guessing the quarter from which the attack had come, was fired with revenge. He started toward Tom, and our hero would have stood a slender chance had the great beast succeeded in reaching him. But the shot had done its work.

The grizzly had scarcely gone a rod when he staggered and fell in a great floundering mass upon the ground.

Tom was already up in the tree he had selected for a refuge before he ventured to look at his enemy.

His heart was elate with joy and triumph when he saw how effective had been his shot. It was no light thing for a boy not yet seventeen to bring down the monarch of the California forests.

The bear made a few convulsive movements, and then settled into the rigidity of death.

“He’s done for!” exclaimed the stranger joyfully, preparing to descend the tree. “He will never trouble us any more.”

“Then I’ll come down,” said Tom.

Together they met beside the huge beast.

Then the stranger, turning to Tom, said:

“My young friend, you have saved my life. That is a debt I never can pay, but I don’t mean to let it go unacknowledged. What is your name, and where do you live?” “My name is Tom Thatcher, and I live at Rocky Gulch.”

“Ha! I am going there. We will go together.”

“I shall be glad of your company,” said Tom, politely.

On the way the stranger introduced himself as Robert Percival, a banker, from San Francisco.

“I have some interests at Rocky Gulch,” he said. “I feel an affection for the spot, for here I laid the foundation of my fortune. Feeling the need of a little rest from business cares, I have come out here from the city. By Jove! I came near getting a permanent vacation. If you hadn’t come to my help, I can’t undertake to say that I should ever have been able to return to any business in the city.”

Toward the close of the afternoon Tom and his new friend reached Rocky Gulch.