After supper the boys prepared to take leave.

“Go!” cried Joe; “you ain’t a going to do any such thing. You’re going to stay a week. What did you come for—just to aggravate a fellow? It is like showing a horse an ear of corn out of the garret window.”

“But we want to go and see Flour, and Fred, and lots of folks,” said John.

“Flour’s over to Wiscasset: besides, you mustn’t call him Flour; he’s Peterson, now.”

“But you want to be clearing land, and we shall only hinder you.”

“I tell you you can’t, nor shan’t go; so say no more about it. I want you to help me make a bear-trap to-night, and shoot some pigeons in the morning on the stubble.”

“Then I’m sure I shan’t stir a step,” cried Charlie.

“Nor I, either,” said John.

“I thought I should bring you to your senses. Have you seen the pig?”

“Yes; he’s a beauty!”

“Well, you haven’t seen the garden.”

“A garden on a burn! Who ever heard of such a thing?” said Charlie.

“You don’t know everything, if you have been to Portland, and worked in a ship-yard. Come ‘long o’ me.”

He led them to the south side of the log barn, and there they beheld a sight that astonished them not a little. Right among the stumps were growing, in the greatest imaginable luxuriance, beans, peas (second crop), squashes, cucumbers, potatoes, cabbages, watermelons, and flat-turnips. The peas and squash-vines had completely covered the stumps, and large squashes were hanging from them, and lying between the great forked roots of the trees in all directions.

“Didn’t take many sticks for the peas,” said Joe, “stumps are so thick. What do you think of that for a cowcumber?” pointing to a very large one. “Just see the watermillions!” taking up one as large as a large pumpkin. “All this kind of truck grows first-rate on a burn—squashes, turnips, peas, and especially watermillions. But come, if we are going to set that bear-trap, it’s time we were at it.”

When they arrived at the place Joe had selected, he cut a large log, three feet in diameter and about fifteen feet long, rolled another of the same length and size on top of it, then set two large stakes at each end where the two logs were to touch each other, driving them down with his axe. These were to keep the top log from rolling off the under one. They now lifted the top log up. It was as much as the three could lift, and John held it with a handspike, while Joe and Charlie set the trap, which was done in this manner: A round stick was laid across the bottom log, and a sharpened stake set under the upper one, the end of it resting on this round stick, and the bait fastened to the round stick. The moment the bear pulled the bait towards him, it caused the round stick to roll, and down came the great log on his head.

“I could have set it more ticklish,” said Joe, “but I was afraid the wind would spring it; and these plaguy coons, that eat whatever a bear eats, will do it.”

It is evident, that as the trap is now arranged, the bear might approach on the side, pull the bait out, and spring the trap without being caught. In order to prevent this, a row of strong stakes is set in the ground on the side where the bait is, forming a pen enclosing the bait placed upon the end of the round stick, which projects into the pen; thus the bear, in order to reach the bait, must crawl between and across the logs, and by pulling the bait, brings down the top log upon him.

“Charlie, I’ve forgot the bait,” said Joe. “Run up to the house, and ask Sally to give you the quarter of lamb Uncle Isaac gave me. Don’t you think the wolves killed ten sheep last night for him and the Pettigrews!”

“How did they get at them?”

“There hadn’t been any wolves round for some time, and they left them out of the fold. Uncle Isaac sent the meat of one to me.”

It may be well to inform our readers that in those days sheep were folded every night, to protect them from the wolves. A log pen was built on a piece of land where some one of the neighbors intended to plant corn the next year, and a number of flocks of sheep were driven in every night. After a while the pen was moved to another spot, and the land was thus thoroughly enriched.

The next year, the sheep were folded upon another person’s land. Sometimes, as in the present instance, through neglect, or not being able to find them, they were left out, and fell a prey to the wolves, who not only killed what sheep they wanted to eat, but would bite the throats and suck the blood of all they could get at.

When Charlie came with the meat, Joe fastened it to the round stick, taking several turns with the rope around the stick, in order that it might roll when the bear pulled the meat towards him.

“Now,” said Joe, “all that’s wanting is the bear, and there’s just time enough before dark to set a spring-gun. Did you know I’ve got Ben’s big gun over here?”

“No.”

“I have. He said I might have it a while if I would make a handsome stock to it. It’s just the thing for bears. Come, go with me and get it, right in my shop. You haven’t seen my work-shop yet.”

“Have you got a work-shop?”

“To be sure I have. Not quite so nice as yours on the island, but it answers the purpose very well.”

Joe led the way to the house. On the side of it he had built a lean-to of logs, quite large, and in it a stone fireplace, with a chimney of sticks of wood, filled in with clay; but he had an excellent set of tools, of the kind used in that day, and a bench. Here Joe worked for others, not for himself, and made yokes, harrows, ploughs, and other utensils for his neighbors, who did not possess the tools, or the gift to use them, and received his pay in labor or provisions, and a little money.

In his proceedings was realized the proverb, “The shoemaker’s wife and the blacksmith’s mare always go bare;” for while he made all kinds of conveniences for others, he had none for himself, but intended to have them all by and by, when the land was cleared, the place stocked, and he built a frame house.

“Look here, Charlie,” said Joe, showing him a piece of wild cherry-tree wood, in which the veins were very much diversified, “won’t that be handsome when it is worked off and polished? I mean to make a stock of that for the old gun, that will come to a fellow’s face like a duck’s bill in the mud; but the old one is just as good for me to knock round in the dirt, and set for bears.”

Joe threw the gun on his shoulder, and they started for the cornfield. He had planted the corn somewhat regularly in rows, though they were often broken by stumps.

He showed the boys a gap in the fence, where a bear had come in a few nights before.

“Why don’t you stop it up?” asked Charlie.

“What would be the use of that? You can’t fence against a bear. You might as well fence against a cat. Besides, when a bear has come into a field once, he will most always take the same road next time, and I’m going to plant my battery on that calculation.”

It so happened that the gap in the fence through which the bear had made his entrance on previous nights ranged between two rows of corn. In the centre, between these rows, Joe drove two stout stakes into the ground, and splitting their ends with the axe, forced the gun, heavily loaded with ball and shot, into the splits, the muzzle directed towards the gap in the fence. At the breech of the gun, near to, and a little behind the trigger, he placed a crotch, in which he laid a stick, one end of it resting in the ground before the trigger, to the other end he fastened a stout cod-line, thus forming a lever purchase. This line was conducted by crotches driven into the ground directly in front of the gun, then ran across the row back again, and was fastened to the stake which supported the muzzle of the gun. If the bear trod upon or leaned against this line, he would discharge the piece, shoot himself, and thus his blood be upon his own head. If he came through the gap, or along between the rows, he could not well help stepping on the line.

“There ain’t much likelihood of shooting a bear with a spring-gun,” said Joe, when he had made his preparations. “They have got to come right before it. If he don’t come through this gap to-morrow night, I’ll put some bait before the gun to tole him.”

They now returned to the house.

“It must be nice to have bears!” said Charlie. “What a good time I might have if I was on my place, making traps, setting guns, and hunting!”

“It ain’t so very nice,” said Joe, “to work hard, and raise a piece of corn, then just as it is in the milk, and growing as fast as it can, have a whole army of bears and coons waiting to destroy it the moment you shut your eyes.”

The boys, when they retired, thought they should certainly hear the gun if it went off in the night; but instead of this, they slept so soundly they did not wake till Joe called at sunrise.

“Has the gun gone off?” cried Charlie, almost before his eyes were open.

“Don’t know. Didn’t hear it. Didn’t calculate to.”

“Is there any bear in the trap?” cried John.

“Haven’t been to see.”

The boys were quickly dressed, and all three were on their way to the cornfield.

“It’s sprung! Hurrah! The trap’s sprung!” shouted Charlie, standing on tiptoe, and looking ahead.

The boys broke into a run, leaving Joe, more cool and probably less sanguine, to follow at his leisure. When at length he reached the spot, he found them standing with blank faces before the trap, in which was the head and shoulders of a coon, the remaining portion of the body having been eaten off.

“You mean, miserable little rat you!” exclaimed Charlie. “Nobody wanted you. What business had you to get into a bear-trap?”

“What do you suppose eat the coon?” asked John. “Foxes?”

“Foxes? no,” replied Joe. “A bear. Look at that corn,” pointing to a place where the bear, after eating the corn, had broken down the stalks, eaten some ears, bitten others, and apparently lain down and wallowed.

“Look there,” said Charlie, taking up a stalk of corn that was bloody; “that was the first one he bit, and some of the coon’s blood is on it.”

“He hasn’t done much hurt,” said Joe; “didn’t get in till most morning, or he would have done more; he’ll be sure to come back again, as he got part of a bellyful, and didn’t get enough.”

They now went to the place where they had set the gun.

“It’s gone,” screamed the boys, who had gone ahead; “there’s no gun here.”

When Joe came to the place, he found the gun gone, the stakes that had held it upset, the crotches torn from the ground, and the cod-line wound around the hills of corn, which was trampled down in all directions.

“Here’s the gun,” cried John; “it’s gone off.”

“Here’s blood,” said Charlie, who had gone to the gap in the fence; “here’s blood all over this log, where he bled getting over.”

“Look here,” said John, holding up the gun; “only look at the stock.”

“That’s where he bit it,” said Joe; “he was mad, and so he bit the thing that hurt him.”

“I don’t blame him,” said Charlie, “if he got all that buck shot and those balls in him.”

“I guess he’s hurt bad; he’s got some of ’em in him.”

“Let’s go right after him this minute: we’ll have him.”

“Not so fast, my boy; we’ll have some breakfast first; we may have to follow him miles.”

Breakfast was soon despatched. Joe loaded up the big gun, gave John his own rifle, and Charlie an old Queen’s arm that belonged to Henry.

“There’s been two of ’em in the corn, I know as well as I want to,” said Joe. They were able to track him by the blood and a peculiar mark like a scratch on the leaves, and wherever the ground was soft.

“He must have one leg broke or hurt,” said Joe: “see there! every little while he drags it.”

Thus they followed for hours, sometimes losing the track, and then, after a long search, finding it again, which consumed a great deal of time. The trail led them in the direction of Charlie’s place.

“It’s one of your bears, Charlie; they are breachy. I wish you would keep them at home out of my corn.”

“You must put them in pound, Joe.”

Pursuing till they came to the brook, they lost the track altogether. Thinking he might have gone into the brook, they followed along the banks on each side to the pond, hoping to regain his track when he left the water, but without success. They were now hungry and discouraged,—it was the middle of the afternoon,—and were about to abandon the search and return, but sat down under a short, butted, scrubby hemlock to rest and consult.

“If we only had Tige,” said John, “he would take us right to him.”

For the last hour they had seen no blood, and Joe reckoned that the blood had clotted in the wounds, or he had stuffed them with moss.

“We shall have to give him up; he’s got into his den,” said Joe.

“Why couldn’t we go home and get Tige on the track, and start, early in the morning?”

While they were conversing, a drop of blood fell on the back of Charlie’s hand. Looking up, he saw the bear in the tree right over his head.

Worn out with fatigue and loss of blood, and unable to reach his den, with the last efforts of remaining strength he had crawled up the tree, with the design of ascending to the thick top, and escaping the notice of his pursuers; but having tangled the cod-line, to which the stake which supported the muzzle of the gun was attached, round one of his hind legs, he had dragged it after him, and catching it in the lower limbs, he, being exhausted, was brought to an anchor. The exertion of climbing the tree had made the wound bleed afresh.

“Good afternoon, friend,” said Joe, who was greatly elated at this unlooked-for success; “see what you did,”—holding up the long gun, and showing the bear the marks of his own teeth on the stock. “Who do you think is to pay for that, eh? Don’t you wish you’d kept out of my corn?”

“See how guilty he looks,” said John, pointing to the creature, who lay with his fore paws on a large branch, gravely regarding his foes with the stoicism of an Indian at the stake.

“Come, boys, which of you want to shoot him?”

They both were silent.

“John does,” said Charlie, at length.

“Charlie does,” replied John.

“Both of you do. Well, both of you fire at him.”

The Last of the Bear.—Page 101.