"Listen!" said Trapper Jim.

All of them became silent. Even the dogs, as if recognizing some vein of authority in that one word spoken by their master, ceased barking, though still straining hard in the leash, as though fairly wild to break away.

There was a crackling of the bushes, and this grew louder.

"Oh, I see him!" cried Bandy-legs.

"Get ready to shoot, everybody, if I give this word; but don't pull trigger unless you hear me yell you to," called out the trapper.

Then there was a savage roar that seemed to make the very air quiver. Out of the thicket scrambled a big black bear, looking furious indeed.

Thinking they were about to be attacked, and in a panic at the very idea, some of the boys leveled their guns. They might have pulled trigger, too, in their excitement, only for the quick warning the old wood's ranger gave.

"Hold your fire, everybody. It's all off. No danger as long as that clog remains fast!" was what he shouted.

Max could readily grasp the situation. He saw that the angry beast could only come just so far, because something was holding one of his hind legs.

"The clog's got fast among the rocks in there, and he's held as tight as can be; that's what's the matter," Steve sang out.

Of course the only thing left to do now was for some one to put a bullet where it would be apt to do the most good.

Who would be appointed to carry out this part of the programme?

Steve hoped Trapper Jim would look favorably upon him when seeking a candidate. He had never shot a bear in all his life, and while there would be little glory attached to the passing of one that was held fast in a trap, still it would be something to think of later on.

But Trapper Jim was a wise man. He supposed that every one of the boys was fairly quivering with eagerness to be the one selected.

As he looked around at the five anxious faces the trapper scratched his head, as though unable to decide.

"It can't be did that way," he muttered. "They must draw lots for it, and the shortest straw wins out. Hear that, boys?"

"Yes, and it's all to the mustard," said Steve, keeping on the alert, and ready to pour in the contents of both barrels should the trapped bear give any evidence of freeing the clog.

"Then here goes."

With that the trapper fastened Ajax to a tree, and then, bending down, picked up a number of twigs. These he seemed to pinch off so that they were all of a size but one, which was shorter.

"Remember, boys," he said, as he mixed these in his hand, so that one could not be told from the others, "it ain't the longest pole that knocks the persimmons this time. The feller who gets the short straw has the chance. Take a pick, Steve."

Steve, of course, could not hold back. And while the dogs were jumping to the length of their leashes and barking madly, with the bear roaring an accompaniment as he tugged desperately at his chain, he drew a splinter of wood.

"Missed! Gee, what tough luck!" Steve exclaimed, in a chagrined voice, as he stared at his prize.

"Try your luck, next!" said Trapper Jim.

Max made a choice. He met with the same result that had given Steve such an overwhelming sense of disappointment.

Then Owen stepped up eagerly.

"I've got it picked out," he remarked, "and it's all over but the shouting." Then he chose, and was jeered by Steve.

"That leaves it a toss-up between Toby Jucklin and Bandy-legs!" he exclaimed, envy plainly marked in his voice.

The two who had yet to draw looked a little frightened. Truth to tell, neither of them experienced anything in the shape of an overwhelming desire to "slay the jabberwock," as Owen put it.

"Draw, Toby, and be quick about it," Steve flung out; "don't you see the old chap's getting all out of patience. Pull out a straw, now, and be done with it. Whatever you draw settles it."

So Toby, with trembling fingers, did as he was told. And immediately he glanced down at the one he had taken, he grinned.

For it was one of the longer straws, similar to those taken by the others. Bandy-legs grew pale.

"Do I have to draw?" he asked, almost piteously.

"Sure you do!" cried Steve. "There's only one left, and you draw that. It's the fatal short one, too. You ring up the prize, Bandy-legs!"

"But—I didn't have any choice!" remonstrated the one selected by fate to be the executioner of the trapped bear.

"Huh, I like that!" laughed Steve. "Why, you had a chance every time one of us stepped up and made a pick. Go on, now, and get ready to do for him, unless you've got cold feet and want to hand it over to somebody else."

But somehow Steve's jeering remarks had stirred Bandy-legs' pride. He looked hard at the other. Then he shut his jaws tight together.

"Thanks! I guess I'll do the job myself!" he remarked.

"With that pop gun of yours?" asked the incredulous Steve.

"No, I'm going to ask Max to lend me his rifle," replied Bandy-legs.

"Much you know about a repeating rifle!" continued his tormentor.

"Well, I did fire it a few times at a target, didn't I, Max?" protested the chosen one.

"You sure did, and really hit the target once," Max hastened to answer, as he exchanged guns with Bandy-legs.

"Huh, that ain't sayin' much, when like as not the target was a barn!"

Ignoring this last thrust from Steve as something beneath his notice, Bandy-legs saw to it that the hammer of the repeating rifle was drawn back.

"Where'll I stand, Uncle Jim?" he demanded, trying to appear quite cool; but the experienced old trapper knew very well how he was secretly quivering all over.

"Here, drop down behind this rock and rest your rifle on it," he said. "Now, wait till I say the word, and then press the trigger. Aim just back of the foreleg, because you're more apt to reach his heart there."

"What if I don't kill him?" asked Bandy-legs, with a big sigh.

"Clap another shell in and give it to him. Reckon you know how to work the trombone action, don't you?" the trapper went on to say.

"Sure I do," answered the Nimrod, lowering his cheek to the stock of the gun.

"Remember, now, and don't shut your eyes, Bandy-legs!" advised Steve.

"Let up on that, Steve," remarked Max, who was greatly interested in seeing the novice get a square deal.

Half a minute of waiting followed. The dogs continued to jump and bark, and the bear, made savage by his pain, tugged at his chain and growled.

"Shoot!" said Trapper Jim, suddenly.

Almost with the word came the clear report of the rifle, showing that at least Steve's jibes had had the effect of putting Bandy-legs on his mettle.

With a fearful roar the bear fell over and began struggling. The dogs seemed almost frantic now in their desire to break loose.

"Quick, work the pump action and get ready!" called out Trapper Jim.

Bandy-legs managed to do as he was told, though he was shaking so by this time that he almost let the gun drop.

"Hold on, no use wasting another shot. I reckon he's done for," was what he heard Trapper Jim say.

"And you've been and gone and killed a real live bear, Bandy-legs!" said Max.

The boy heaved a sigh as he gave back the rifle.

"But he was held fast in a trap, Max," he said, moodily; "guess that ain't so much to crow over."

"But ain't he a whopper!" exclaimed Steve, who was at the bear's side almost as soon as the animal had ceased to struggle.

"If we only had a c-c-camera here now we'd take him with his f-f-foot planted on the old b-b-bear and holdin' his g-g-gun!" exclaimed Toby.

Here was plenty of work for all hands.

The bear must first of all be skinned, because Jim said he had a splendid hide that would be worth a good deal to him when properly dried.

Then they wanted some of the meat, in fact all that was worth while, for Jim would dry that which they did not consume.

"Plenty of fat, too," he observed, as he worked. "I like that, because I'm short just now on bear's grease, and a supply would come in handy."

"What do you use it for, Uncle Jim?" asked Owen.

"Dozens of things. I rub it on boots, I keep my guns and ax from rustin' by smearin' it on. Why, long ago in the woods I've known where families made candles out of bear's fat by using a wick in the middle."

By degrees he managed to cut the bear up. The meat was wrapped in packages, so that it might all be transported to the cabin.

"What about the trap; will you set it again?" asked Steve.

"Not here," was the reply. "No other bear is likely to come along the trail this fellow made. One of you boys had best tote it back home. I may need it again this winter if the season stays open and the bears come out to look around, like they do mild winters."

It was well on toward noon when they arrived once more at the cabin, each one being pretty well loaded down.

They concluded to have a bite to eat before attempting anything further. But the cooking of the bear meat would have to be deferred until later in the day, as it would take too much time.

Feeling refreshed after their meal, the boys announced themselves ready to undertake any further business.

Max, Steve, and Toby were to take that four-mile tramp after the venison that had been left behind on their former trip.

"Seems like we're getting our share of happenings up here," remarked Steve, as he and his two chums tramped steadily on.

"Well, yes, it does look that way, Steve."

"Things come along right smart these days and nights," continued the other. "And already it's paid us for the long trip, 'cording to my calculations."

"It certainly has," admitted Max.

"With more'n a week more to come," added Steve. "And there's only one thing I feel bad about, too."

"I think I could give a guess what that is," said Max; "the bobcat."

"Hit it plumb center that time," laughed the other, as he shifted his gun to the other shoulder, for on the four-mile tramp it was beginning to feel rather heavy.

"Well, I wouldn't bother my head any over that fellow getting away scot-free," Max continued. "He didn't do any damage, and, as Uncle Jim says, you might have been sorry if you went out in the dark woods looking for trouble. When anybody does that he generally finds it, all right."

"But I hope I just happen on the old pirate again while we're up in this neck of the woods," observed the persistent Steve. "I'd just like to look along the barrels of my gun at the varmint, as Jim calls him."

"Yes, Steve, and he said he had an idea this was the same old cat that gave him a peck of trouble last winter, stealing some of the animals that were in his traps, but always avoiding getting caught himself."

"Why, Uncle Jim even tried to poison the thief, but nary a bite would the cat take of the doctored meat," Steve went on. "I hope this is the same tough old customer and that I sight him when I've got my gun along, that's all."

"We've got there, Steve. I can see the very tree where we hung up the balance of the little buck we knocked over."

Steve could not but note how Max persistently gave him an equal share in the credit of killing the deer. It warmed his heart toward such a generous chum. But, then, that was always the way with Max Hastings.

"Let's go a little slow, Steve," he continued; "we can't see the deer, because of the leaves that still hang on to the oak."

Silently then they advanced.

And just as they arrived at a spot where they could see the hanging carcass, again did they hear that ferocious snarl as on the preceding night. Steve instantly threw his gun up to his shoulder, and at the same instant he heard Max at his elbow saying:

"Steady, Steve, steady! Look out, he's going to jump."