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Pony Rider Boys in New England

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<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> <h3>AN INTERRUPTED FORAGE</h3> Young Butler, regardless of the presence of the bears, ran to the assistance of the unfortunate fat boy. Tad jerked Stacy to his feet, then with a firm grip on the latter's collar ran him toward one of the larger trees, up which he assisted Chunky. The panting of a bear seemed close to Tad's ears when he had finished this task. He had just time to jump aside to avoid the sweep of a paw. Tad jumped as far up as possible, throwing arms and legs about the trunk of the same tree. At that moment he lost a section of his trousers, which was left in the claws of Bruin. Tad quickly hitched up a few inches higher, panting from his exertions, and there he clung for a moment to get his breath. In the meantime the bear was exerting itself to reach him. "Climb, climb! He'll get you!" shouted Ned. "He can't reach me." "Look out. There comes another one. He is bigger!" warned Walter. "Grab the rope!" yelled Rector, letting the loop of his lasso drop over Tad Butler's head. Tad hunched the rope under his arms. "Can you hold me?" "Yes, I've got a hitch around a limb," answered Ned. The boy half way up the tree rested more of his weight on the rope. A moment of this and he began to climb, Ned assisting by hauling up on the rope with all his strength. Butler was soon resting beside him. "Thank you," said Tad. "You aren't much of a shot, but you helped me up." "Yes. I could shoot better than that with a pop-gun," jeered Stacy from an adjoining tree. "You keep still. I don't see that you have been doing much, for a brave man, except to get us into more trouble," retorted Ned. The Professor had become very much excited, and nearly fell out of the tree while suddenly shifting his position. "Charlie, why don't you do something?" shouted the Professor. Charlie hunched his shoulders. "Get down there and shoot them, why don't you?" demanded Professor Zepplin. "No gun, no shoot," answered Charlie John. "Some of us can't shoot when we do have a gun," piped Chunky. "It takes a pretty good shot to shoot a rope in two," answered Butler mischievously, stealing a look at the flushed face of Ned Rector. "But what are we going to do?" demanded the Professor. "From the present outlook I think we shall be tree dwellers, for a time at least," answered Tad. "Has any of you a suggestion to make?" "I move that Ned Rector climb down and make faces at the bears. They will run away sure then." "Oh, keep still. If they didn't run at sight of you, nothing under the skies will frighten them," retorted Ned disgustedly. "No, they didn't run away. They wanted to kiss me," answered the fat boy triumphantly. Despite their perilous situation the boys laughed, but Professor Zepplin did not. He sat astride a limb tugging savagely at his whiskers. Tad suggested to Ned that he was afraid the Professor would pull the whiskers out. The report of a rifle some distance to the westward of the camp called the attention of the party sharply in that direction. "That's Mr. Vaughn," cried Tad. "What is he shooting at?" asked Walter. "I don't know, but maybe he has found the bear he went out after," suggested Tad. There was no second shot, so they concluded that the guide had missed his shot and lost whatever he had shot at. Tad began uttering long-drawn calls, the call of the woodsman which he had learned from Cale Vaughn. After a time a faint call was heard in answer. "He heard us," yelled Stacy. In the meantime the three bears were having a merry time down in the camp. They even searched the tents for plunder, foraging everywhere, doing damage to everything that they did not eat, clawing the outfit over ruthlessly. The guide's voice was heard calling again. It sounded much nearer this time, and the Pony Rider Boys raised their voices in an appealing yell. Cale heard it. He knew instinctively that something was wrong at the camp, and started for home at a brisk run. As he neared the camp he proceeded with more caution. Every few moments the boys would set up their long drawn calls, but as there were no more answers to them, they feared that Cale had gone away on another trail. Suddenly a loud report that seemed to be right in the camp, so startled them that some of them nearly fell out of the trees. Chunky uttered a yell. Following the report, the most amazing thing happened to one of the bears that was standing on its hind feet pawing at the table. The bear toppled over backwards, clawed the air as it lay flat on its back, then rolled over on its side where it lay still. Bang! A second bear followed the first, except that he plunged forward, rolled over, and did not move again. The third bear, with a growl, ambled into the bushes and disappeared. "It's the guide!" cried Tad. "Hurrah!" yelled Ned. "Wasn't that some shooting? Oh, Mr. Vaughn!" "Ye-o-w!" yelled Stacy in a shrill, penetrating voice. "Whoo—ee!" cried Tad. "You've got them," roared Walter. "One ran away. Hurry and you'll get him." Cale, at this juncture, made a sudden appearance from a thicket of bushes, rifle thrust ahead of him ready for instant service. "Where did he go?" "That way," shouted Tad, slipping down the tree and bounding off in the direction taken by the third bear. The others followed him down to the ground, while Cale ran off in pursuit of the escaping bear. Stacy Brown, constituting himself the leader of the party, was shouting directions to them. "Oh, go way back somewhere and sit down," begged Ned. "Go climb a tree. That's the best place for you," retorted Stacy. "Boys, stop your quarreling," commanded the Professor. "We aren't quarreling," answered Rector. "No, that's just our way of having fun," agreed Stacy. "We love each other too well to quarrel, don't we, Fatty?" questioned Rector, grinning broadly. "Of course we do. Didn't I save your life today?" "I'd like to know how," bristled Ned. "He got away," announced Vaughn, returning to camp. "This place looks as if it had been struck by a tornado," added the guide. "What has been going on here?" "Well, you see the big bear and the middle-sized bear and the weeny-teeny bear came home for their bowl of soup. Not finding the soup they tried to eat up Pony Rider Boys," began Stacy. "I don't understand it," reflected Cale. "Bears don't ordinarily act that way." "These weren't ordinary bears. Neither was the one that kissed me this afternoon," declared Stacy. Vaughn fixed his gaze on the fat boy. "What are you getting at?" "Oh, nothing much. A big, big bear called on me in my tent this afternoon. We drove him out of the camp, we did. You ought to have been here. Why, when he left the camp after I had rebuked him, his tail was dragging on the ground, and—" "He must have been a new species of bear to have a tail as long as that," laughed Cale. "Well, anyhow, we drove him off, put him to rout, packed him off bag and baggage. I guess he is running yet. You never saw such a scared beast in your life." "I guess he isn't running very fast," returned Cale dryly. "Why isn't he running?" retorted Stacy, offended at the guide's tone. "Because I shot him about a mile the other side of the creek," answered Vaughn. "He was a small bear and he didn't appear to be very much frightened." The boys had a good laugh at the fat boy's expense. "That was another bear, probably the child of the one we chased," declared Stacy, not to be downed thus easily. "Perhaps," agreed Cale. "But that doesn't explain the peculiar actions of these fellows, nor of the first one. Charlie, how did the bears act when you first saw them?" he demanded, turning to the Indian. "Him smell for something—so." The half-breed went through the motions of sniffing over the ground, against the trees, and toward the tents. "Just so," nodded Vaughn. "The question is, what caused them to do that? Something here must have attracted them. Do you know what it was?" "Not know," muttered the Indian. "Do you know, Master Stacy?" fixing a keen gaze on the fat boy. "How should I know?" replied Stacy indifferently. "I didn't know but perhaps you might," returned Cale. The guide stood his rifle against a tree and walked about the camp with apparent carelessness, looking into the tents, examining the provisions through which the bears had foraged. Finally he returned to Chunky. "How much of that oil of anise did you use to attract those bears?" he demanded sharply. Chunky flushed to the roots of his hair. "Why—I—I—" "Where is the bottle?" "I—I threw it away." "You used all the oil?" Stacy nodded, with eyes averted. The boys were beginning to understand. All were grinning. "So that was one of your tricks, eh?" asked Tad. "Well, it certainly succeeded." "What were you trying to do?" insisted the guide. He too was now smiling. "I—I wanted to call the bees." "Why?" "I—I thought maybe they'd sting the Indian." "Did they?" asked Tad. "They did! They pinked him right in the back of the neck, and you ought to have heard that Indian yell." Stacy was looking them in the face now, as he warmed to his subject. "John Charles jumped about fourteen and a half feet in the air and let out a war whoop. I'm surprised you folks didn't hear him." "Where were you all this time?" interjected Rector. "I was hiding in the tent, 'cause the bees were pretty thick, and the boss bee was scouting for me. I—I guess he must have smelled the oil on my fingers." The Professor's fingers closed over the arm of the fat boy. "Stacy!" he said sternly. "What do you think we ought to do with you?" "Well," reflected the fat boy, "I reckon you ought to cook me a bear steak and give me a spread. I'm half starved." Professor Zepplin released his hold on Chunky's arm, heaving a deep sigh of resignation. "Perhaps that would be the most sensible thing to do," agreed the guide. "We are all pretty hungry, I reckon, after our long tramp." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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