THE shame and mortification which Bob and Lester experienced after being detected in their attempt to break into the negro cabin, were of short duration. They gradually recovered their courage and began to mingle again with their associates; and although they saw one or two sly winks exchanged the first time they went to the post-office, no one said anything to them about being treed on the top of the cabin, and they hoped the circumstance was not known. But still they felt guilty, and were much more at their ease when they were alone.

They had much to talk about. Lester could never cease grumbling because David had succeeded in his enterprise, in spite of all their efforts to defeat him, and Bob, who was full of dreams and glorious ideas, was continually talking about the fine things he would purchase when he became mail carrier and was earning three hundred and sixty dollars a year. Then he and his friend Lester would see no end of fun. They would have a canoe in the lake and a shooting-box on the shore. They would camp out twice a year, as Don and Bert did, and they would have a crowd of fellows with them of their own choosing. As soon as Bob had earned money enough to purchase his breech-loader, he would invest in a dozen or two of decoys, and they would show that conceited Don Gordon that some boys were just as fine marksmen as he was, and could bag just as many birds in the course of a week’s shooting.

Lester readily fell in with these ideas, and suggested that, as they had no better way of passing the time just then, it might be well to make the canoe at once. Then they could explore the lake from one end to the other, and select a good shooting point whereon to build their house. Bob thought so, too, and with the help of one of his father’s negroes, who was handy with the axe and had shaped more than one dugout, they succeeded, after two days’ work, in producing a very nice little canoe, just about large enough to carry two persons and their camp equipage. Having no iron rowlocks, they made two paddles for it; and when they had given it a coat or two of lead-colored paint, they told each other that it was a much better and handsomer craft than Don Gordon’s. On the same day on which David received his money for the quails, they put the canoe into a wagon, hauled it down to the lake and made it fast to a tree in front of Godfrey Evans’s cabin, promising Dan, who happened to be at home, that they would give him a dime or two occasionally, if he would keep an eye on it and see that no one ran off with it.

When they reached home they found Mr. Owens, who had just returned from the landing. They knew by the expression on his face that he had some news for them. Bob thought it must be something that related to his own prospects, and eagerly inquired:

“Have I got the appointment, father? Am I mail carrier now?”

“O, it isn’t time for that,” was the reply. “I have not even made my bid yet. I don’t know that you ought to have it, Bob. A boy who will let a fellow like Dave Evans carry off a pocketful of money from under his very nose, I don’t think much of.”

“Has he received it?” asked Lester.

“I should say so. I saw Silas Jones pay him over a hundred and sixty dollars.”

Lester pulled off his hat and threw himself on the porch beside Mr. Owens’s chair, while Bob, who was so amazed and angry that he could not speak, stood still and looked at his father.

“See what you boys have lost by not having a little more ‘get up’ about you—eighty dollars apiece,” continued Mr. Owens. “Where’s your breech-loader now, Bob?”

“I could have bought one for that amount of money and a nice jointed fish-pole besides,” said the boy, regretfully. “I hope Dave will lose every cent of it.”

“He’ll look out for that,” answered Mr. Owens, with a laugh. “He has worked so hard for it that he’ll not let it slip through his fingers very easily.”

“He never would have got it if it hadn’t been for Don and Bert,” said Bob, spitefully. “But I don’t care—I’ll beat them all yet. Just wait till I get to be mail carrier, and I’ll show them a thing or two. Don’t you think I am sure to get it, father?”

“I think your chances are as good as anybody’s. I haven’t had an opportunity to speak to any one about it yet, but I must be up and doing to-morrow, for the general is busy all the time. He intends to get the contract himself and hire Dave to do the work, and that is the way I shall have to do with you, if I get it. The general was talking about it to-day in the store. He didn’t say a word to me—I suppose he thought I could neither help nor hinder him—but I walked up in front of him and told him very plainly that David was the son of a thief, and not fit to be trusted with such a valuable thing as the mail. You ought to have seen the general open his eyes. When I told him that Godfrey had robbed my smoke-house, he said David wasn’t to blame for that. He couldn’t help what his father did. I made no reply, for I didn’t want to let him know that I am working against him. If I can get the bonds, I think the rest will be easy enough.”

“I’ll speak to my father about it to-morrow night,” said Lester. “Bob and I are going up the lake in the morning, and as soon as we get back I’ll go home and fix the bond business.”

Bob passed a sleepless night. He grew angry every time he thought of David’s success, and jubilant and cheerful when he recalled his father’s encouraging words. The air-castles he built were as numerous and gorgeous as those Godfrey Evans erected when he told his family about the treasure that was buried in the general’s potato-field.

The two boys arose the next morning at an early hour, and as soon as they had eaten breakfast and Mrs. Owens had put up a substantial lunch for them, they shouldered their guns and set out for the lake. Bob carried his father’s muzzle-loading rifle, while Lester was armed with the heavy deer-gun with which he had bowled over so many bears and panthers in the wilds of northern Michigan. Lester delighted to talk of the wonderful exploits he had performed with that same rifle, and as he had a good memory and generally managed to tell the same story twice alike, Bob finally came to believe that he told nothing but the truth; but at the same time he thought it very strange that his friend could never be prevailed upon to give an exhibition of his skill.

They found Godfrey’s cabin deserted by the family (if they had known what had happened there the night before, their delight would have been unbounded), but the canoe was where they left it, and they knew where to look to find the paddles. While Bob went in search of them, Lester unlocked the chain with which the canoe was secured, put in the lunch basket and weapons, and, when all was ready, they pushed out into the lake.

“Yes, sir, this rifle holds a high place in my estimation,” said Lester, continuing the conversation in which he and Bob had been engaged, as they came along the road. “It has saved my life more than once, as you know. The last bear I shot charged within five feet of me before I dropped him. I put four bullets into him in as many seconds. Where would your muzzle-loader be in such close quarters?”

“Nowhere,” replied Bob. “That’s what makes me so mad every time I think of Dave Evans. I might have ordered a nice gun and had it in my hands in a few days more, if it had not been for him. But I’ll make it up when I get to be mail carrier.”

“I’ll tell you what else I’ve done with this rifle,” continued Lester, who found as much pleasure in dwelling upon his imaginary exploits as Bob did in talking about his future prospects. “Once when I was walking through the woods I shot a gray squirrel out of the very top of the tallest shell-bark hickory I ever saw. It fell about four feet and lodged on a little branch, which, from the ground, looked no larger than a knitting-needle. I wanted that squirrel, as it was the only one I had seen that day, but I didn’t want to climb the tree to get it; so I hauled up off-hand and at the first shot I cut off that limb and brought down the squirrel. What do you think of that?”

“I think you are a splendid marksman,” replied Bob. “Why don’t you go to some of the shooting-matches about here? You would be certain to carry off some of the prizes. Let’s see you take the head off that fellow,” he added, pointing toward the shore.

Lester looked in the direction indicated by his friend’s finger, and saw a quail sitting on a fallen log, close by the water’s edge, evidently keeping watch over the rest of the flock, which were disporting themselves in the dusty road. As Bob spoke, the bird uttered a note of warning, and the flock hurried away into the bushes, but the sentinel kept his place on the log.

“Knock him over,” said Bob. “He’ll make a capital good dinner for us, if we don’t find any ducks.”

“I—I am all out of practice,” replied Lester. “I’ve seen the day that I could do it with my eyes shut.”

“I can do it with my eyes open,” said Bob.

He drew in his paddle as he spoke, picked up his father’s rifle, and, resting his elbow on his knee, drew a bead on the bird’s head and pulled the trigger. Bob was really a fine marksman, and the effect of his shot made Lester open his eyes in astonishment. The bird looked so small that it seemed useless to shoot at its head, but Bob made a centre shot. Lester had never seen anything like it. Bob had never before fired a rifle in his presence (he always used a shot-gun), and the reason was because Lester boasted so loudly of his own skill that Bob was afraid of being beaten.

They paddled ashore after the bird, and when they pushed out into the lake again, Lester had nothing more to say about hunting and shooting. He even showed a desire to abandon the trip up the lake and go home.

“I don’t feel very well this morning,” said he, “and I think we had better go back.”

“O, no,” replied Bob. “You can lie down in the bow of the canoe and I’ll do the paddling. Does your head ache?”

“Dreadfully, and I thought perhaps it would be well to speak to father about those bonds of yours. We don’t want to be beaten again, you know.”

“Of course not, but if you speak to him to-night it will answer every purpose. If my father had been in any hurry he would have told you so. I have a plan to propose that will wake you up and put life into you. You remember that when you went over to get Don to join our Sportsman’s Club, he told you that he and Bert had been frightened off Bruin’s Island by a bear, don’t you? And you told him that perhaps you would go up there some day and shoot him?”

“Ah! yes, I think I remember some such conversation. But I don’t feel like it to-day. Some other time I’ll go up there with you, and if we find any bears there, I’ll show you how to hunt them.”

It was not at all probable that Lester or any other boy in the settlement could have taught Bob anything about bear-hunting. He had ridden to the hounds almost ever since he was large enough to sit on horseback. Nearly every planter in the neighborhood owned a pack of dogs, Mr. Owens among the number, and hunting with them was as much of a pastime as base ball is in the North, and during the proper season was as regularly practised. Many an old bear had Bob seen “stretched” by the dogs, and the rifle he then carried had been the death of more of them than Lester could have counted on the fingers of both hands.

“It is strange that you never come out to any of our hunts,” said Bob. “You have often been invited.”

“I know it, but I can’t see any fun in it,” answered Lester, who knew that if he ever appeared among the hunters they would soon find out that he was a very poor horseman. “It is easy enough to kill a bear when you have a score or two of dogs to hold him for you; but I’d like to see one of you fellows walk into the woods and meet one alone, as I have. There’s where the fun comes in.”

“I should think so,” answered Bob, as, with one sweep of his paddle, he brought the canoe to a stand-still in the mouth of the bayou that led to Bruin’s Island. “What do you say? Shall we go up?”

“Not to-day; my head aches too badly.”

“I was all over that island this last summer,” continued Bob; “you know one can wade out to it when the bayou is low; and I didn’t see any bear sign. More than that, I know there hasn’t been a bear near the island for years; but if we should go up there and find one, and you should shoot him, I don’t know of anything that would make Don Gordon feel more ashamed of himself.”

Lester was quick to catch at the idea thus thrown out. If there was no prospect of finding a bear on the island he had no objections to going there, or, rather, he wanted to go there. He could fearlessly explore the island and rely upon Bob to sound his praises in the settlement, and tell what a brave fellow he was and what a coward Don was.

“I don’t think Don showed much pluck in running away before he saw the bear,” said Lester.

“Of course he didn’t,” replied Bob.

“Are you sure there was no bear there?”

“I know it. Bears don’t use on that island any more.”

“Well, let’s go up and see. If there is one there, I’ll make you a present of his skin.”

This was enough for Bob, who, with one sweep of his paddle, turned the canoe’s head up the bayou. Somewhat to his surprise, his companion, who had been lying in the bow, holding both hands to his head, and acting altogether as if he felt very badly, straightened up and assisted him in propelling their little craft. He recovered from his illness immediately, when he found that he could win a reputation, and at the same time run no risk of being called upon to exhibit the skill and courage of which he had so often boasted.

As they moved up the bayou, the ducks, which now began to arrive in great numbers, being driven from their far Northern homes by the approach of winter, arose from the water in numerous flocks; and after Bob had made two “pot shots” at them, aiming at the birds as they sat on the water, and missing both times, Lester mustered up courage enough to try his deer gun on a flock which swam out from a point a short distance in advance of them. Taking a quick aim at the birds, he managed, by the merest accident, to bag three of them—the ball passing through the head of one of the ducks, through the neck of another and through the body of a third. But the fact was they sat so closely together on the water that he could scarcely have missed them if he had tried.

“Well, I declare!” exclaimed Bob. “Did you shoot at their heads?”

Lester was so greatly astonished at the result of his shot that he could not reply at once. With mouth and eyes wide open, he gazed at the three ducks lying dead upon the water, then at the remainder of the flock, which were flying up the bayou, and then he blew the smoke out of the breech of his rifle and put in a fresh cartridge.

“O, you needn’t try to look so surprised,” exclaimed Bob. “I have always been afraid of you, and now I am satisfied that you can beat me. You are the best shot among the boys in this settlement.”

“Well, you needn’t say so before folks,” replied Lester, as soon as he had somewhat recovered himself.

“Yes, I will,” returned Bob. “I have heard some of the fellows say that they didn’t believe you ever killed any game in your life, and now I can tell them differently. Can you do it again?”

“I am afraid not,” answered Lester, with an air which said he could if he felt like it.

“I believe you can. The fellows around here have no business with you.”

Lester was entirely satisfied with this. He had won a reputation as a marksman, and he had won it very easily. Many a reputation has been made in the same way—by accident. With an assumption of indifference which he was very far from feeling he picked up the ducks as Bob paddled up to them, and fearing that his friend might ask him to try another shot, expressed a desire to be put on the island as soon as possible.

“I have got my hand in now,” said he, “and I wouldn’t turn my back on a grizzly.”

“There’s no bear on the island,” replied Bob, “but I wish there was, for I would like to see you shoot him.”

Although Lester was very proud of, and greatly encouraged by the chance shot he had just made, he could not echo his friend’s wish; and if he had had the faintest suspicion that there was a bear within half a mile of him, he could not have been hired to remain in the bayou. He knew nothing whatever of the habits of the animal, but Bob did, and his positive assurance that bears never “used” on the island now was the only thing that induced Lester to consent to visit it. Still his heart beat much faster than usual when they rounded the bend and came within sight of the leaning sycamore behind which Godfrey Evans had been partially concealed when Dan first discovered him. In a few minutes more Bob drove the bow of the canoe so deeply into the mud that the current could not carry it away, and the two boys jumped out on the bank.

“Don Gordon went over to Coldwater a year ago and brought back a bearskin which he showed to every body, with the story that he killed the bear who wore it,” said Bob, who never grew tired of saying hard things about the boy he hated. “I don’t believe it and never did. He has told all around the settlement that he was driven off this island by a bear a few days ago, and that he set a trap for him. I don’t believe that either; but we’ll just take a look around to satisfy ourselves, and then we’ll go back to the settlement and tell the truth about the matter. It is my opinion that Don is trying to make himself famous by telling big yarns; and if we can prove it, it will make him take a back seat, and it will put a feather in our caps besides. Now there used to be a path somewhere about here that led to the camp Godfrey Evans used to occupy while the Yanks were in this country, and I think I can find it.”

Having examined the cap on his rifle, Bob led the way along the beach and Lester fell back, quite willing that his friend should go on in advance; for when he came to look into the dense, dark thicket which covered the interior of the island, his courage began to fail him.

Bob discovered the path in a very few minutes, and, greatly to his surprise, saw that it was not overgrown with reeds and briers, as he had expected to find it, and as it was the last time he saw it. On the contrary it was broad and well-beaten, for Godfrey, while he was hiding there, had often passed over it, and in order to facilitate his progress had broken down the briers and cane on each side. Bob’s face grew pale and his hands began to tremble. He looked closely at the bushes and told himself that they had been borne down by some heavy animal; but he said nothing, for he was afraid that if he opened his mouth his courage would all leave him, and he did not want to show himself a coward in the presence of so mighty a hunter as his friend Lester. Believing that he had one at his back who would stand by him, no matter how much trouble he might get into, he grasped his rifle with a firmer hold, drew back the hammer and advanced slowly along the path.

“What made you cock your gun?” asked Lester, in a startled whisper. “And why do you move so slowly and cautiously?”

The answer almost froze the blood in Lester’s veins.

“Do you see that?” replied Bob, in the same startled whisper, pointing to a footprint in the mud which looked as though it might have been made by a bare-footed man. “Do you see these broken bushes? Do you see that smaller track there?” he added, a moment later, in accents of great alarm. “We are in a dangerous neighborhood, the first thing you know. There have been two bears along here—an old one and a cub; and I shouldn’t wonder if they were on the island at this very minute. Yes, sir, they are, and there’s one of ’em now!”

As Bob said this, there was a sudden commotion in the cane in front of them, accompanied by a hoarse growl. Bob beat a hasty retreat on the instant, jumping behind his companion before the latter could prevent it, and Lester found himself standing face to face with the first bear he had ever seen outside of a menagerie.