THE young hunters had advanced nearly to the end of the path and were now standing within a few feet of the clearing in which Godfrey had built his lean-to, and which had been torn down in order to make room for Don Gordon’s bear trap. There were several large trees growing beside the path, and Bob quickly sprang behind one of them, leaving Lester standing alone within twenty yards of one of the largest bears that had ever been seen in that part of the country. Without an instant’s hesitation Bob raised his rifle and pointed it at the breast of the animal, which had reared itself upon its hind legs, but the muzzle of the weapon waved about in the most alarming manner, and he could not hold it still to save his life. He found that there was a vast difference between facing a bear when he had twenty fierce dogs and as many armed horsemen to back him, and confronting the same animal on foot with but a single companion to depend on. After a moment’s reflection he lowered his rifle, for he knew that it would be folly to fire and wound the bear. He thought the safest plan would be to rely upon the superior skill and courage of his companion.

“Go for her!” said Bob, in a scarcely audible whisper. “Shoot her in the eye if you can; if not, take her under the fore leg.”

Bob kept his eyes fastened upon the bear, expecting every instant to see her fall stone dead beneath Lester’s deadly aim; but the animal stood erect, closely regarding the intruders, and finally opening her mouth and showing a frightful array of teeth; she uttered another angry growl and moved slowly along the path. Then Bob looked toward his companion, wondering why he did not shoot. One glance showed him the reason. The hunter who had shot bears and panthers in Michigan, as ordinary hunters shoot squirrels, was overcome with terror. He stood in the middle of the path, holding fast to the stock of his rifle, the muzzle of which he had allowed to fall until it was buried in the mud. His face was as pale as death, and his eyes, which were fastened upon the savage beast before him, seemed to have grown to twice their usual size.

“Shoot! shoot!” cried Bob, in great dismay. “She’ll be right on top of us in a minute more.”

But Lester was past shooting or doing any thing else. His fear had taken away all his strength, and even the knowledge that his life was in danger could not arouse him. Bob saw that something must be done at once. With trembling hands he raised his rifle to his shoulder, and drawing a hasty bead on the bear’s breast, pulled the trigger. Without waiting to see the effect of his shot he threw down his gun, made one or two quick jumps backward and placing his hands upon a small sapling ascended it with the greatest agility.

A very few seconds sufficed to place him in the topmost branches, and when he found that he could go no higher he stopped and looked down to see what was going on below. The bear was just scrambling to her feet and the sight made Bob’s heart bound with excitement and triumph, for then he knew that his bullet had not been thrown away. It had knocked the animal over; but the celerity of her movements and the hoarse growls she uttered proved that it had not reached a vital part, but had only made a wound severe enough to drive her almost frantic with rage. She dropped on all-fours and came down the path at the top of her speed, and there was Lester standing as motionless as ever. Bob might have thought he was waiting for the animal to approach within five feet of him so that he could make that famous shot he had so often talked about, had he not seen his friend’s pale face and noted the position in which he held his rifle.

“Run! run!” gasped Bob, who fully expected to see his companion pulled down and torn in pieces before his eyes. “Take to a tree—a sapling, and then you will be safe, for it is too small for the bear to climb!”

These words, and the sight of the fearful peril to which he was exposed, had the effect of arousing Lester from his lethargy. He let his rifle fall, and with even more agility than Bob had exhibited but a few seconds before, laid hold of a sapling and climbed it like a squirrel. He was none too quick in his movements, for the bear, clumsy as she looked, ran with surprising swiftness, and was at the foot of the sapling before Lester was fairly out of reach. Rising quickly on her hind feet she thrust one of her paws up into the branches, and the loud scream of terror Lester uttered frightened Bob so badly that he came near tumbling out of his perch. As soon as he had taken a firmer hold of the branches he turned to look at his friend, and was greatly relieved to see that he had nothing to fear.

Lester realized his peril now, and was full of life and action. Seizing a branch above his head he drew up his feet and so escaped the savage clutch which the bear made at him. It was a narrow escape, and Lester’s terror was so great that it was all he could do to climb still higher among the branches, and put himself in a place of safety. The slender sapling swayed and rocked as he worked his way upward, and Lester could not yet believe that the danger was over.

“O, Bob! Bob! what shall I do?” he managed to ask, as he clung to his frail support and looked down at the bear’s ugly paw, which was now and then thrust up among the branches, altogether too close to his feet for comfort.

“Crawl up as high as you can and hold fast,” was the reply. “The bear can’t hurt you now.”

“But how am I ever going to get home?” whined Lester.

“I don’t know. We’ll talk about that by and by. All we have to do now is to keep out of her reach. Why didn’t you shoot her as you used to shoot those bears up in Michigan?”

Before Lester had time to reply the attention of himself and companion was called to two new actors which suddenly appeared on the scene. One of them they would have recognised, if they had not been too badly frightened to recognise any thing. It was one of Don Gordon’s hounds. He and his mate rushed straight at the bear, and in a second more a most terrific battle was in progress. The snarls and growls of the combatants made Lester’s blood run cold. A moment later Don’s voice was heard encouraging the dogs.

“Hi! hi! there,” he shouted. “Take him, you rascals. Pull him down!”

The sharp report of a rifle followed his words, and the next thing Lester knew he was plunging headlong through the branches. The sapling in which he had taken refuge received a sudden and violent shock, as if some mighty body had been thrown against it, and Lester, whose extreme terror had rendered him almost helpless, lost his hold and fell to the ground. He caught frantically at the frail twigs as he passed through them, but they did not check his rapid descent, and he landed with a concussion that at almost any other time would have rendered him senseless. But he did not mind his injuries now in the least. He jumped up the instant he touched the ground, and looked about him with the utmost consternation. There were three enraged brutes near him which were making the leaves fly in every direction as they rushed fiercely at one another, but his frightened eyes cheated him into believing that there were four times as many. Just as he gained his feet he saw twelve bears knock twelve dogs down with one stroke of their paws, and then these twelve bears turned and made at him with open mouths. He gave himself up for lost; but at that instant a roar like that of a cannon sounded close to his ear, and the twelve bears sank to the ground all in a heap. So did Lester who could endure the strain no longer. As he fell he saw twelve Don Gordons rush up with heavy double-barrel shot-guns in their hands, and each selecting his bear poured another charge of buckshot into the animal’s head. But there was only one bear there—at least there was only one engaged in the fight—and only one Don Gordon.

The last time we saw Don was on the day David shipped his captured quails up the river on the Emma Deane. He and his brother had labored faithfully to help their humble friend fill his contract, and when this work was done they were ready to accompany their father on a trip to Coldwater, which had long been talked of, and which the general had good-naturedly postponed in order that Don and Bert might assist David in making his enterprise successful. They intended to be absent a week or more. The general went on business, and Don and Bert to visit a young friend whom they had often entertained at their own house, and whose horses and hounds were the envy of all the boys in the country for miles around. They made the journey on horseback and were accompanied by their hounds. Don was armed with his trusty rifle, with which he hoped to make great havoc among the deer and bears that were so abundant in the county in which their friend Bob Harrington lived, while Bert carried his light fowling piece.

Bob Harrington, with whom Bert intended that he and Don should take up their abode in case they had gone on that hunting expedition which the reader will remember was broken up by the arrival of their cousins Clarence and Marshal Gordon, was a young Nimrod—not such a one as Lester Brigham, but one whose exploits had been witnessed by all the men and boys in the settlement in which he lived. His rifle was the truest, his hounds were the stanchest, and his horse was the fleetest, and could take his fences the easiest of any in the county, not even excepting those of Mr. Harrington, Bob’s father, who had been a hunter all his life. Bob never boasted that he would stand still and allow a bear to approach within five feet of him before he would shoot him, for he knew that that would be a harder test than his courage could endure; but he was not afraid to walk up and finish any bear his dogs had hold of, and nearly every hunter in the neighborhood had seen him do it. The magnificent pair of antlers on which Don and Bert were accustomed to hang their gloves and riding-whips, and which were fastened to the wall of their room over their writing table, as well as the soft bearskin that served as a rug by the side of their bed, were presents from their friend Bob, and were only two out of a score or more of such articles which he had sent to his acquaintances all over the state. The animals that once wore these antlers and skins had all been brought low by Bob’s own unerring rifle.

With such a hunter for a companion during a week’s shooting, the boys expected to learn something, especially Don, who told himself that before the visit was ended Master Bob would find that there was at least one boy in Mississippi who was not afraid to follow where he dared lead. And he made his resolution good. While Bert, with Bob’s setter for a companion, was roaming about over Mr. Harrington’s extensive plantation, making double shots on quail, woodcock and snipe, and Mrs. Harrington and the general were seated in their easy-chairs by the huge old-fashioned fire-place, talking over their business matters, Don and Bob were riding to the hounds, braving all sorts of weather, and bringing in so many trophies of their skill that the general and his host were astonished. No dinner in that house was considered complete without its wild turkey or saddle of venison; and as for such game as quails and woodcock, the family feasted on them until they were actually tired of them.

Don was given ample opportunity to test his skill with the rifle and exhibit his nerve in trying situations, and he finally became so accustomed to walking up and shooting a bear when the dogs had him “stretched” that he thought no more of it than he did of bringing a squirrel out of the top of a hickory or stopping a woodcock on the wing. When the visit was ended and he returned to his home, he had more than one bearskin strapped behind his saddle, and, better than that, he carried with him a confidence in his own powers which ultimately proved to be the salvation of one who, had their situations been reversed, would have deserted him in the most cowardly manner.

The boys reached home one night after dark (it was the night of the same day on which David Evans received the money for his quails), and after relating to their mother and sisters as much of the week’s history as they could crowd into two hours’ conversation, they went up stairs and tumbled into bed. They were tired, of course, but still they had energy enough left to plan a campaign for the next day.

“We mustn’t forget our bear trap on the island,” said Bert, as he settled himself snugly between the sheets.

“That’s so,” answered Don. “We’ll go up there the first thing in the morning. If a bear is going to get into that trap at all, he has had plenty of time to do it. Whoever awakes first after daylight must arouse the other. I say, Bert! if I had had as much experience a few weeks ago as I have now, we couldn’t have been driven off the island until we had found out what it was that uttered those horrid growls. I feel ashamed of myself when I think it was nobody but Godfrey Evans.”

“But we didn’t know it at the time,” said Bert.

“Of course not. If we had we should have made him show himself. Just let him try that trick again if he dares.”

As it happened neither one of the boys awoke at daylight. They were locked in a dreamless slumber until they were aroused by the ringing of the breakfast-bell. They dressed themselves with all haste, and with many exclamations of regret, hurried down stairs. They were not so impatient but that they could take time to eat a hearty meal; but still they finished their breakfast before the rest of the family did, and asking to be excused ran off to get ready for their trip to the island. Don went up stairs after the guns and ammunition (he brought down his father’s heavy double-barrel for Bert’s use), and his brother went to the shop after the oars belonging to the canoe, and to call the two hounds which had accompanied them on their former expedition up the bayou. As they did not intend to be absent more than three or four hours no lunch was provided for them.

The brothers met again at the jetty below the summer-house, where they found the canoe riding safely at its moorings. She was quickly loaded and pushed from the shore, and after an hour’s easy rowing the young hunters found themselves within sight of Bruin’s Island. As they approached it, Bert, who was steering, began to believe that if Godfrey Evans had not returned and taken up his abode in his old quarters, they would certainly find somebody or something else there, for the hounds, which up to this moment had been curled up in the bow, now arose to their feet, and after looking all about as if taking their bearings, turned their noses toward the island and eagerly snuffed the air. Did they remember their former experience there, or did the breeze, which was blowing straight down the bayou, bring some taint to their sensitive nostrils? Bert, who closely watched their movements, could not tell until he saw the long hair on the back of Carlo’s neck begin to stand erect. Then the question was answered.