Through Forest and Fire / Wild-Woods Series No. 1

STARTLING FOOTPRINTS.

On the very edge of the bridge over Shark Creek, the mother of Nellie Ribsam picked up the lunch basket which her daughter had taken to school that morning. It lay on its side, with the snowy napkin partly out, and within it was a piece of brown bread which the parent had spread with golden butter, and which was partly eaten.

No wonder the afflicted woman uttered a half-suppressed scream when she picked up what seemed a memento of her dead child.

While the lanterns were held in a circle around the basket, which the father took from his wife, Mr. Ribsam lifted the piece of bread in his hand. There were the prints made by the strong white teeth of little Nellie, and there was not a dry eye when all gazed upon the food, which the father softly returned to the basket and reverently covered with the napkin.

Stepping to the railing at the side of the bridge Mr. Layton held his lantern over, Nick and Mr. Kilgore immediately doing the same. The rays extended right and left and far enough downward to reach the stream, which could be seen, dark and quiet, flowing beneath and away through the woods to the big pond, a quarter of a mile below.

In the oppressive stillness the soft rustling of the water was heard as it eddied about a small root which grew out from the shore, and a tiny fish, which may have been attracted by the yellow rays, leaped a few inches above the surface and fell back with a splash which startled those who were peering over the railing of the structure.

The trees grew close to the water's edge, and as the trunks were dimly revealed they looked as if they were keeping watch over the deep creek that flowed between.

Thank heaven, that sight was spared them; nothing of the kind was seen, and a sigh escaped from each.

"We are all tortured by the thought that Nellie has fallen into the creek and been drowned," said the teacher; "but I cannot see any grounds for such fear."

The yearning looks of the parents and brother caused the teacher to explain more fully.

"No child, unless a very stupid one, would stumble from this bridge, and there could have been no circumstances which in my judgment would have brought such a mishap to Nellie."

This sounded reasonable enough, but:

"De basket,—vot of dot?" asked the father.

"She has dropped that from some cause; but that of itself is a favorable sign, for had she fallen accidentally into the water she would have taken it with her."

All wanted to place faith in the declaration, and no protest was uttered. As nothing was to be seen or learned where they stood, they crossed the bridge and descended the wooded slope until they reached the edge of the stream, which wound its way through the woods to the big pond.

Every heart was throbbing painfully and no one spoke: there was no need of it, for no comfort could be gained therefrom.

Mr. Layton and Kilgore moved carefully up the creek, while Nick and his parents walked toward the pond, which lay to the left.

The two wished to be apart from the others that they might consult without danger of being overheard by those whose hearts were suffering so much anguish.

"It's very strange," said Mr. Kilgore, "that the basket should be found on the bridge: what do you make of it, Mr. Layton?"

"It is strange, indeed; had there been no water in the creek you could have set it down as certain that the child had not fallen from it, but, as she could not have done so without drowning, I am inclined to think—"

The instructor hesitated, as if afraid to pronounce the dreadful words.

"You think she is drowned?" said his friend, supplying the answer with his own question.

Mr. Layton nodded his head by way of reply, and, holding the lanterns in front, they began groping their way along the margin of the creek.

By raising the lights above their heads the rays reached the opposite bank, lighting up the water between. This was unusually clear, and they could see the bottom some distance from shore.

Both felt that if the body was floating anywhere they could not fail to see it, though the probabilities were that it was already far below them, and would be first discovered by the parents and brother.

By way of explanation, he pointed to the damp soil where no vegetation grew: it was directly in front and close to the water, being that portion which was frequently swept by the creek when above its present level.

Parallel to the stream, for a distance of several rods or so, were a number of imprints in the yielding earth, which the first glance showed were made by some large animal.

"It must have been a dog," ventured the teacher, who had little practical knowledge of the animals of the wood.

Mr. Kilgore shook his head.

"It was a bear; there can be no mistake about it. Mr. Marston was right; it was the track of a similar animal which he saw last March."

"You are not mistaken, Mr. Kilgore?"

The farmer answered impatiently:

"I have hunted bears too often to be mistaken; I can tell their trail among a hundred others, and the one which went along here a little while ago was one of the largest of his kind."

THE LITTLE WANDERER.

Although Nellie Ribsam was only eight years old at the time she was lost in the big woods, yet the results of the training received from her sensible father and mother showed themselves in a marked degree on that memorable occasion.

She had been taught, as was her brother, that under heaven she must rely upon herself to get forward in the world. Nick was rarely if ever allowed to extend her a helping hand in her lessons, and she was given to understand that whatever was possible for her to do must be done without the aid of any one.

As for sitting down and crying when in trouble, without making any effort to help herself, she knew better than to try that when either her father or mother were likely to find it out.

She turned off at the forks, and did not lessen her gait until she reached the woods. Her rapid walking caused her to feel quite warm, and the cool shade of the woods was refreshing.

She began wandering aimlessly forward, swinging her hat in her hand, singing snatches of school songs, and feeling just as happy as a little girl can feel who is in bounding health, high spirits, and without an accusing conscience.

It was not the time of year for flowers, and Nellie knew better than to look for any. They had drooped and died long ago; but some of the leaves were turning on the trees, and they gave a peculiar beauty to the autumnal forest.

The woods were fragrant with ripening grapes and decaying vegetation, and were putting on a garb whose flaming splendor surpassed the hues of spring.

Indeed, everything conspired to win a boy or girl away from study or work, and to cause the wish on the part of both that they might be a bird or squirrel, with no thought of the responsibilities of life.

The first view which stopped her was that of a large vine of wild grapes.

Some of them were green, some turning, while others were a dark purple, showing they were fully ripe: the last, as a matter of course, were at the top.

These wild grapes were small and tart, inferior to those which grew in the yard of Nellie at home; but they seemed to be trying to hide in the woods, and they were hard to get, therefore they were more to be desired than the choicest Catawba, Isabella, or Concord.

The main vine, where it started from the ground, was as thick as a man's wrist, and it twisted and wound about an oak sapling as if it were a great African constrictor seeking to strangle the young tree. Other vines branched out from the sides until not only was the particular sapling enfolded and smothered, but the greedy vine reached out and grasped others growing near it.

"I'm going to have some of them," she said, and straightway proceeded to help herself.

She climbed as readily as Nick himself could have done, and never stopped until she was so high that the sapling bent far over with her weight. Then she reached out her chubby hand and plucked a cluster of the wild fruit. They were about the size of buckshot, and when her sound teeth shut down on them, the juice was so sour that she shut both eyes and felt a twinge at the crown of her head as though she had taken a sniff of the spirits of ammonia.

But the grapes were none the less delicious for all that; the fact that there seemed to be something forbidden about them added a flavor that nothing else could give.

Five minutes later, Nellie was clambering upward like a monkey, never pausing until the bending tree-top warned her that if she went any higher it would yield to her weight.

Nellie disposed of one bunch and that was enough: she concluded that she was not very hungry for grapes and, without eating or even gathering more, she devoted herself to another kind of enjoyment.

Standing with one foot on a limb and the other on one near it, she grasped a branch above her and began swaying back and forth, with the vim and abandon of a child in a patent swing.

But a green sapling is very elastic, and, although the one climbed by Nellie bent back and forth like a bow, it did not give way. Her hair streamed from her head, and there was a thrilling feeling as the wind whistled by her ears, and she seemed to be shooting like a bird through space.

All this was well enough, and it was no more than natural that Nellie should have forgotten several important facts: she was so far from the highway that she could not see any one passing over it; the rush of the wind in her ears shut out sounds that otherwise would have been noticed, and she had gone so far and had lingered so long by the way that it was time to look for Nick on his return from Dunbarton, even though he was later than he expected to be.

Nellie displayed a natural, childish thoughtlessness by keeping up this sport for a half hour longer, when she came down to the ground, simply because she was tired of the amusement.

Although out of sight of the road she managed to find her way back to it without trouble. With her lunch basket in hand, she continued in the direction of Dunbarton, taking several mouthfuls of the bread which had been left over at noon.

In this aimless manner she strolled forward, stopping now and then to look at the squirrel or rabbit or the yellow-hued warbler, the noisy and swift-flying finch, the russet-coated thrush, or dark brown and mottled woodpecker, as his head rattled against the bark of the tree trunks, into which he bored in quest of worms.

The first real surprise of the girl came when she reached the bridge. This proved that she was more than four miles from home, a distance much greater than she had suspected.

"I don't think I will go any farther," she said; "Nick will be along pretty soon, and I'll wait here for him."

Standing on the bridge and looking down the road and listening for the sound of the carriage wheels were tiresome to one of Nellie's active habits, and it was not long before she broke off some of the bread, set down her lunch basket, and then dropped some crumbs into the water.

As they struck the surface, sending out little rings toward the shore, several tiny fish came up after the food. Nellie laughed outright, and, in her eagerness, was careless of how she threw the crumbs, most of which fell upon the bank.

It occurred to her that she could do better by going down to the edge of the stream, where she would not mistake her aim.

Just there, Nellie, like many another little girl, made a great mistake.

IN GREAT DANGER.

A little child is like a butterfly, thinking only of the pleasures of the moment. Nellie Ribsam came down close to the edge of the creek and threw some crumbs out upon the surface. In the clear water she could see the shadowy figures of the minnows, as they glided upward and snapped at the morsels.

She became so interested in the sport that she kept walking down the bank of the stream, flinging out the crumbs until there was none left in her hand; then she debated whether she should go back after her lunch basket or wait where she was until Nick appeared on the bridge.

"It's a bother to carry the basket with me," she said to herself; "I had to leave it on the ground when I was after grapes, so I'll wait till Nick comes, and then I'll call to him. Won't he be scared when he sees me down here!"

Nellie felt that she would like to go on down the creek to the big pond into which it emptied; but she knew better than to do that, for she would be certain to miss her big brother, and it was already beginning to grow dark around her.

"I wonder what makes Nick so long," she said to herself, as she sat down on a fallen tree; "I'm so tired that I never can walk the four miles home."

She had sat thus only a brief while, when her head began to droop; her bright eyes grew dull, then closed, and leaning against a limb which put out from the fallen tree, on which she was sitting, she sank into the sweet, dreamless sleep of childhood and health.

Ah, but when she sprang to her feet and stared about her in the gloom she was dreadfully alarmed!

She was quick-witted enough to understand where she was and how it had all come about. The gibbous moon was directly overhead, and shone down upon her with unobstructed fullness.

"Nick has gone over the bridge while I was asleep," was her instant conclusion; "and father and mother will be worried about me."

Her decision as to what she should do could not but be the one thing—that was to climb back up the bank to the bridge, cross it, and hurry homeward.

There was a little throbbing of the heart, when she reflected that she had several miles to travel, most of which was through the gloomy woods; but there was no hesitation on the part of Nellie, who, but for the sturdy teaching of her parents, would have crouched down beside the log and sobbed in terror until she sank into slumber through sheer exhaustion.

There was no room for doubt in the mind of the child, for she understood the nature of her parents as well as any child could understand that of its guardian.

Nellie was some distance below the point where the bridge spanned the creek, but she could see the dim outlines of the structure as she started toward it. It seemed higher than usual, but that was because the circumstances were different from any in which she had ever been placed.

The little one was making her way as best she could along the stream in the direction of the bridge, when she was frightened almost out of her senses by hearing a loud, sniffing growl from some point just ahead of her.

She was not kept long in waiting, for in less than a minute the noise was repeated, and at the same moment she caught the outlines of a huge black bear swinging along toward her. He was coming down the bed of the creek, with his awkward, ponderous tread, and when seen by Nellie was within fifty feet of her.

When it is remembered that he was of unusual size and proceeding straight toward the child, it seems impossible that she should have done anything at all to help herself. The sight was enough to deprive her of the power of motion and speech.

But it was in such a crisis as this that little Nellie Ribsam showed that she had not forgotten the teaching of her parents: "God helps them that help themselves."

With scarcely a second's pause, she whirled on her heel and dashed down the stream with the utmost speed at her command.

It required no instruction to teach her that there was but one way in which she could escape, and that was by climbing a tree. Had there been a large one near at hand she would have ascended that as quickly as possible; but, fortunately, the first one to which she fled was a sapling, no larger than those she had climbed during the afternoon, and no one could have clambered to the highest point attainable quicker than did the frightened little girl.

Had she been a veteran hunter, Nellie could not have made a better selection, for she was fully twenty feet from the ground, and as much beyond the reach of the bear as though she were in her trundle-bed at home.

But the position was a frightful one to her, and for several minutes she believed the animal would tear the tree down and destroy her.

"I have done all I can for myself," she murmured, recalling the instruction of her parents, "and now God will do the rest."

The huge bear, which from some cause or other had ventured from the recesses of the wood, was but a short distance behind the little wanderer when she climbed so hastily beyond his reach. He acted as though he was somewhat bewildered by the unusual scene of a small child fleeing from him, but nothing is so tempting to pursuit as the sight of some one running from us, and the brute galloped after Nellie with an evident determination to capture her, if the thing could be done.

When he found the child had eluded him for the time, he sat down on his haunches and looked upward, as though he intended to wait till she would be compelled to descend and surrender herself.

The small tree in which Nellie had taken refuge was several yards from the edge of the stream, the bank sloping so steeply that the water never reached the base, excepting during a freshet.

The bear clawed the bark a little while, as a cat is sometimes seen to do when "stretching" herself, and it was during these few minutes that the girl thought nothing could save her from falling into his clutches.

When he ceased, she peered downward through the branches, and could just see the massy animal near the base of the tree, as if asking himself what was the next best thing to do.

It will be admitted that the situation of Nellie Ribsam was one in which few children of her tender years are ever placed. Happy it is, indeed, that it is so, for what one in a thousand would have retained her self-possession?

In explanation, it may be doubted indeed whether Nellie fully comprehended her peril. Had she been older, her consternation, doubtless, would have been greater, as the emotion she showed some years later, when placed in great danger, would seem to prove.

Perched in the top of the tree, with the enormous bear sitting beneath and looking hungrily upward, she prayed:

"Heavenly Father, please take care of me and don't let that big bear catch me; don't let papa and mamma feel too bad, and please make the bad bear go away and let me alone."

"GOTT SEI DANK!"

The prayer of little Nellie Ribsam—so far as it related to herself—was answered.

She secured her seat, as best she could, in the branches of the chestnut sapling, and, by arranging her dress and the yielding limbs with considerable skill, she made herself quite comfortable.

The trying situation in which she was placed, it would be thought, was enough to drive away all disposition to sleep, but at the end of less than half an hour the little head was nodding again, and, forgetful of her peril, her senses soon left her.

It will be understood that the danger of the young wanderer was rendered all the greater by this loss of consciousness, for her muscles would relax in slumber, and, unless her position was unusually secure, she was certain to fall.

When at last she moved slightly and was on the point of losing her balance, she awoke so quickly that she saved herself just in the nick of time.

She was shocked and startled, but regaining her breath she held fast with one hand while she parted the branches with the other and carefully peered down among the limbs.

"He is gone!" was her joyous exclamation; "I knew the Lord would make him go away, because I asked him to."

She was right: the bear had vanished, and all danger from that source for the time had passed.

Nellie did not feel surprised at all, for, as I have shown, she had the faith to believe that her prayer would be answered.

"Now I will go down to the ground and start for home. I guess the bear isn't far off, but the Lord will not let him hurt me."

She carefully descended the tree and stood on the ground a minute later. She found that her dress was torn and she had lost part of the ribbon from her hat. This troubled her more than anything else, for her frugal mother had told her many a time that she must take the best care of her clothing.

"I was so scared that I forgot to look out," she said to herself, after taking an inventory of the damages; "but I guess mother will excuse me for losing the ribbon, though I know she won't for coming so far into the woods without permission."

She had gone but a short distance when she stopped with another shock of affright.

"My gracious! what can that be?"

A point of light appeared between her and the bridge, flickering about like an ignis-fatuus or jack-o'-lantern. Nellie felt like taking to the tree again, but she bravely stood her ground until she could satisfy her curiosity as to its nature.

Watching it closely she observed shadowy figures flitting around the light in a curious and grotesque way. She was in greater doubt than ever, when she heard voices.

"I think I saw her tracks, but I couldn't be sure; Nellie knows too much to walk or fall into the deep water."

"I hope so, but my heart misgives me sorely. God be merciful, for if she is lost I can never recover!"

The first speaker was Nick Ribsam, and the second was the father, the mother immediately adding:

"Oh, mother! Oh, father! Oh, Nick! It is I, Nellie! I am so glad to see you!"

And the little wanderer flew like the wind along the bank of the creek. The mother was the first to recognize the voice, and rushing forward she caught her child in her arms, murmuring in her own language:

"Mein Kind! Mein Kind! Gott sei Dank!" (My child! My child! God be thanked!)

"Mein lieber Nellie! Komm an mein Herz! Kannst du es sein?" (My dear Nellie! Come to my heart! Can it be you?) exclaimed the overjoyed father.

"O meine abtrünnige Schwester! Wie du uns erschreckt hast! Wie es mich freut dich zu finden!" (Oh, my truant sister! What a scare you have given us! How glad I am to find you!) shouted Nick.

Nellie was laughing and crying, and wondering why it was such commotion was caused by her return to her folks.

Mr. Layton and Kilgore heard the tumult, and knew what it meant. A few minutes brought them to the spot, and, though their greeting was less demonstrative, their eyes filled with tears over the exceeding joy of the reunited family.

When the excitement had subsided somewhat, the group listened to the story of Nellie. She told it in her childish, straightforward manner, and it was all the more impressive on that account.

The listeners were greatly touched; but the probability that a large bear was in the neighborhood hastened their footsteps and they lost no time in hurrying away.

Nothing was seen of the animal, however, and, as the distance from the bridge was increased the party finally gave up all thought and conversation respecting it.

There was a grateful household that night, when, at a late hour, they gathered about the family altar and the head returned thanks to Him who had been so merciful to them and theirs.

The happy mother held the daughter in her arms all night, while they both slept; and when the parent awoke, now and then, through the darkness, she shuddered, pressed the little one closer to her and kissed the chubby cheek, on which her former tears had not yet dried.

Nellie said she knew it, and wondered why it was her mother delayed the punishment so long. She was ready, and loved and respected her mother the more for administering it.

But truth compels me to say that the chastisement was given with such a gentle hand that it was hardly worth the name, and the mother herself suffered far more than did the child, who to this day is not conscious that she received anything like physical pain.

OMINOUS PREPARATIONS.

Happily there are few little girls in this favored land who are called upon to go through such trials as fell to the lot of little Nellie Ribsam when she was but eight years old.

It created much talk in the neighborhood, and she was complimented on the bravery she had shown, while the glad father became more confirmed than ever in his favorite belief that God helps them that help themselves.

"'Spose dot she didn't try to helps herself some," he said, in talking the matter over with Mr. Marston, "don't you not sees dot she would get eat up doo, dree times by dot bear dot vos bigger as nefer vos?"

"Dot's becos dere folks don't not begins right; we starts mit Nick and Nellie when dey was so small dot dey didn't know nuffin, which is why it happens dey knows so much now."

Great as was the interest excited by the adventure of Nellie, it was not long before it was thrown in the shade by another fact which was brought to light by that same experience: that was the existence of a large bear in the woods which lay to the east and west of the road leading to Dunbarton.

This forest, as has already been intimated, covered a large tract of country, in which, a few years previous, bears, deer, and wolves had been hunted by many of those dwelling on the outskirts. Large inroads had been made on the woodland, and here and there the cabin of a settler or squatter was found by those who penetrated any distance.

The pine resembled the famous white pine of the Allegheny mountains, and predominated. Where there was such a large area covered with timber, about every variety of surface was known. In some places were rocks, ravines, hollows, and gulches; in others there were marshy swamps through which a hunter would find it hard work to force his way.

Shark Creek entered from the east and was of considerable volume. In many places it was deep, while elsewhere it widened into broad and shallow expansions. It wound its way through the woods in the sinuous course always taken by such streams, and, crossing the road, where it was spanned by a bridge, it continued onward a quarter of a mile, when it reached Shark Pond, the overflow of which ultimately found its way into the Susquehanna and so to the Atlantic.

From what has been said, it will be seen that the woods offered a most inviting home for a few wild bears, and there was the best reason for the belief of many of the neighbors that if the tract was well hunted over several of the animals would be found.

The universal opinion was that they should be exterminated, for so long as they were in the woods, so long were they a standing menace to all the men, women, and children who dwelt in the section. The children, especially, were considered in great peril, and several timid mothers refused to let their girls and boys go to school, which stood at no great distance from the woods.

A few individuals, like Gustav Ribsam, said there was nothing to fear, for when the bears showed any marked increase they would be killed, and it would be no very difficult job, either.

But no one could dispute the desirability of ridding the country of the brute which came so near eating little Nellie Ribsam; and, where there was so much talk, something was done, or at least attempted.

A hunting party of six men was organized in the month of October, and they tramped through the woods for days, with a couple of dogs, but the trail of the animal could not be found. They finally gave up the hunt, the most tired and disgusted not hesitating to declare they did not believe a bear had been seen in the forest for half a century.

The opinion of those best qualified to judge, was that bruin obtained all the food he wanted with such little trouble that he did not care to molest any persons, and therefore kept out of the way of the hunters.

But Nick was so anxious to own a gun, that his father bought him one on the day he reached the age of ten years, which was shortly after Nellie's adventure with the bear. Although the farmer was frugal in all things, he believed it was the cheapest to buy the best, and the gun which was placed in the hands of Nick was a breech-loader with double barrels. It was a shot-gun, as a matter of course, for little use could be found for a rifle in that neighborhood.

The lad had owned it two years, and, under the tutelage of his father, who was wounded and living upon a pension, he became very skillful for one of his age.

Beside this, Mr. Marston himself, as I have shown, was fond of hunting in his early manhood, and was the owner of an excellent muzzle-loading rifle, which was as good as when his keen eye glanced along the brown barrel and the bullet was buried in the unsuspicious deer, so far away as to be scarcely visible to the ordinary vision.

"If you and Sam want to hunt the bear," said the kind owner, "you are welcome to my rifle, for you know a shot-gun ain't exactly the thing to go hunting bears with."

"That's just what I want it for," said Nick, with sparkling eyes.

THE BEAR HUNTERS.

Nothing is impossible to pluck and perseverance. That boy who is determined to become brilliant in his studies, no matter what their nature, or to master a difficult profession, or to attain any point possible of attainment, is sure to win, if he will but stick to it.

Nick Ribsam was resolved to become skillful with the rifle, and he gave all the time he could spare to practice with the gun which belonged to Mr. Marston. He was desirous of starting after the bear with Sam, as soon as he could use the gun, but his sensible father shook his head.

Although a lusty lad, Nick found the heavy gun was quite a burden, and he preferred to rest the barrel on the fence, or in the crotch of a tree, when aiming, but Sam Harper told him he could never amount to anything unless he used his weapon off-hand, and was ready to do so effectively, no matter how sudden the call.

Nick applied all his energies, and in the course of a few weeks won the praise of Sam, who had become very fond of the bright and good-natured "Pennsylvania Dutchman," who, in return, helped him in his efforts to improve his knowledge in arithmetic, which he studied in a desultory way on the long autumn evenings, having promised his father to do so.

Mr. Marston owned a dog which was not of much account, but the boys trained him with rare patience, and were confident he would prove valuable when they took him on the hunt.

"I don't think they do that till the weather gets colder," said Sam, who had once helped hunt bruin in the wilds of Tennessee, "and even in very cold weather I have seen their tracks in the snow; but if we can only find the tree or cave where he is hiding, why, that will just be splendid."

"Why so?"

"He is fat, lazy, and so sleepy that he don't fight much; but in the spring-time he is lean, hungry, and fierce, and then everybody must look out. There are so many chestnuts and hickory nuts in the woods now that he can get all he wants to eat without scaring the farmers by visiting them."

"The bear eats almost everything," said Nick, "but I don't believe he can make much of a meal off hickory nuts."

"I ain't sure he won't die of old age as it is," said Nick, with a laugh; "for every one who went after him came back without the first glimpse. I guess they have all given up hope of shooting him, and I shouldn't wonder if we had to do the same."

But whether such was to be the result or not remained to be seen, and the boys were sure of plenty of sport in an all-day ramble through the woods.

During all this time Nick and Nellie were attending school, and they maintained their places in their studies, and were surpassed by none in the excellence of their deportment.

Nick rose early and helped his father with his work, and at night did his chores. With all this, he found opportunity to practice with the rifle and to prepare his lessons for the morrow, so that it need not be said he had little idle time on his hands.

His rifle was slung over his shoulder, and the dog, which they had christened Bowser, was at his heels. There was no school that day, and Mr. Ribsam, having satisfied himself of the ability of Nick to handle the rifle of his neighbor, had given him permission to go on a hunt for the bear which had so frightened Nellie a couple of months before.

The mother and daughter were a little anxious when the rosy-cheeked boy donned his heavy boots, pushed his trousers down the legs, and taking the long-barreled rifle from where it rested in the corner turned to kiss them good-by.

Mr. Ribsam seemed as cool and stolid as ever; but any one looking closely at him would have observed that he puffed his pipe a little oftener than was his wont, while his eye beamed more kindly upon his brave little boy.

"Look out, Nick, and don't be too venturesome," said the mother, as she pressed her lips to those of her only son.

The brother, who was in the act of leaning over his sister to kiss her, drew back with a reproving look.

"Why is it a girl can't talk without saying 'awful' in every sentence? I wish for variety's sake, Nellie, you and the rest of the girls would leave 'awful' out of one sentence in a hundred, and don't say 'I seen him,' for you know better than that, sister."

She hung her head and her eyes were growing misty, when Nick took the kiss with a laugh and moved to the door.

"There, there, good-by; you all act as if I was going to Africa to hunt lions and tigers."

Nellie snapped him up in a flash:

"There ain't any tigers in Africa, smarty!"

"You got me that time," laughed Nick; "where is father?"

"He went out of the door a minute ago; he is standing by the gate," said the mother, after a quick glance through the window.

He looked at the boys without stirring or speaking, as they passed out the gate and gently closed it, so as not to jar the old gentleman leaning upon it.

When they had gone a rod or so, Mr. Ribsam called out:

"Nicholas!"

"Yes, sir!" answered the son, wheeling instantly.

The father took the long stem of his pipe from his mouth, emitted a blast of vapor, and then shut his eyes and flung his head backward with a quick flirt, which meant that his boy should come to him.

Nick obeyed with his usual promptness, and paused immediately in front of his parent, while Sam Harper stopped short and looked backward at the two, with the purpose of waiting until the interview ended.

The old gentleman meant his words for both, and he therefore used the English tongue as best he could, and spoke loud:

"I will take good care, you may depend."

"His claws am sharp and he has big jaws; look outs for dem, Nicholas!"

"You may be sure I will."

"And, Nicholas, ven you goes for to hunt bears you must helps one anoder; you hears?"

This was the all-important sentence the father had prepared himself to utter. It will be observed that it was in violation of his oft repeated creed, for it clearly called upon the boys to render mutual support should danger arise; and they would have been zanies had they not done so.

The father expected them to show that much sense, but he was impelled to impress the necessity of it: he meant them to understand that his declarations were subject to amendment under certain conditions.

As the bear when seen by Nellie was near Shark Creek, the boys agreed to follow the road to the bridge, descend into the bed of the stream, and then go downward toward the pond and finally off into the woods, where they intended to pass that day and probably the night and following day.

They had reached and passed the tree in which Nellie Ribsam took refuge two months before, when Nick suddenly exclaimed:

"Hallo, there is some one ahead of us!"

"It's the season for game and we shall find plenty of hunters in the wood," said Sam Harper, who, nevertheless, scanned the person with much interest.

The fact that the boys were following precisely in his footsteps raised the suggestion that perhaps he was engaged on the same business or sport, as it might be termed.

"Hallo, there!" called out Nick; "wait a minute!"

The individual thus hailed turned about, and looked back to see who it was that called.

As he did so his face was seen, and Nick Ribsam gave utterance to an expression of astonishment.

A RECRUIT.

The stranger ahead of the two boys was Herbert Watrous, the city youth upon whom Nick had sat down so hard three years before.

He was unusually tall when visiting the country school, and during the intervening time he had continued to grow upward, until his height equaled that of an ordinary man. He was scarce fourteen years old, but he lacked very little of six feet in altitude.

He was correspondingly slim, so that he looked as if a smart blow on the back would snap him in two. He was arrayed in a most gorgeous hunting suit of green, with all the paraphernalia which the hunter from the city thinks necessary when he honors the country with a tramp for game.

The face of the lad had not changed in expression to any extent since Nick Ribsam drove him into the earth, but there was some downy furze on his upper lip and chin, while his voice was of that squeaky and uncertain tone heard when "changing."

"Hallo! is that you?" was the rather superfluous question of Herbert, as he waited for the two boys to come up. He recognized Nick, but of course was a stranger to Sam Harper, to whom Nick introduced him, and there was a general shaking of hands all around.

Young Watrous glanced rather askance at his old school-mate, but there was such a cordial welcome on the part of the young "American of Dutch descent" that all reserve vanished.

"That's a fine gun you have there, Herbert," said Nick, venturing to reach out his hand for it.

"Yes," answered Herbert, passing it to him rather gingerly, "be careful not to drop it."

The gun was a beautiful weapon, known as the long range "Creedmoor." It was a Remington, highly finished, and cost $125. It had a front sight, known as the wind-gauge, with the spirit-level, and with the vernier sight on the stock, which is raised from its flat position when the hunter wishes to shoot a long distance, and is graduated up to a thousand yards, carrying a 44 cartridge.

"That isn't of much account in this part of the world," said Sam Harper, passing the weapon back; "it's light enough, for I don't suppose it weighs more than six or seven pounds."

"It's just the thing for these woods," said Herbert, in his important manner, "for I calculate to bring down game a half mile away, if I happen to see it."

"I can tell that by my eye easily enough."

"You can't guess within two hundred yards of it, if your life depended on it."

"That remains to be seen."

"The first time you try it will prove it. I have seen them shoot with the telescopes, globe, and peep sights and all the new fangled notions, and they're good only for fancy shooting. You've got to use that breech-loader off-hand, just as I do, or it won't be worth a cent to you."

"I understand that a big black bear has been seen in the woods," said Herbert, in his loftiest style; "I've come to kill him."

Nick and Sam looked significantly at each other, and Nick said:

"That is what we are after; won't you join us?"

Instead of responding promptly, Herbert said:

"Well, I don't know as I have any objection to letting you go with me, though you must promise to do as I say."

"Have you a dog?" asked Nick of their new recruit.

"No, what do I want of a dog? He would only be a bother; you ought to send back that pumpkin of yours."

"We don't expect him to be of much help, except to find the track of the bear, if he is anywhere in the neighborhood—there! do you hear that?"

At that moment Bowser, who had trotted into the woods ahead, gave utterance to a hoarse, resounding bay, which sounded as though his voice had also changed, for it ended in a dismal squeaking howl that made all laugh.

"He is on the track of something," said Nick in some excitement.

"A rabbit, I am sure," remarked Herbert, with a sneer.

Herbert was so much taller and lighter than his companions that he drew away from them once or twice, but was obliging enough to stop and wait.

Hurrying along in this headlong fashion they soon stopped, all pretty well out of breath.

Although Herbert had laughed at their tardiness, he was the most exhausted and the first one to wish to rest.

A SURPRISE.

All this time the baying of the hound continued, the sounds showing that he had circled and was approaching the boys, who were not a little astonished at the unexpected turn of affairs.

"That's a pretty dog," laughed Herbert; "he is making fools of us all."

"There isn't any need of that so far as you are concerned," retorted Nick, losing patience with the slurs of their companion. "You had better wait till you find out what it means before you condemn Bowser."

Herbert made no answer, for the dog was now so close that the interest of all was centered on his actions.

"My gracious, what a terrible racket he makes!" exclaimed Nick; "there must be something unusual to excite Bowser like that."

Suddenly the bushes parted only a short ways from where the three wondering lads stood, and, instead of the hound, some kind of a wild animal came toward them on a dead run.

The group were too amazed to think of the guns they held, and only stared in mute wonder.

The game did not see them until within a hundred feet, when he whirled at right angles and plunged away with arrowy speed.

As he did so, he exposed his flank to the young hunters, who could not have been given a better opportunity to bring him down, for the throwing forward of the foreleg, opened his most vulnerable part to the bullet.

The boys had set out to hunt a bear, and were astounded that, when they dared not hope they were anywhere in his vicinity, a splendid deer should spring up and dash by them.

Before they could give utterance to their amazement, Bowser came along with his nose to the ground and baying hoarsely.

Just as he turned to follow the deer, Herbert Watrous raised his breech-loader to his shoulder and fired point blank at him.

"What did you do that for?" demanded Sam Harper, striding threateningly toward him with his fist raised.

"Why—why—I declare! I thought it was the bear!" exclaimed the abashed Herbert; "I never dreamed it was the dog."

Sam was not disposed to believe this story, and he stood irresolute, strongly inclined to punish the city youth who had fired at his hound; but Nick compelled his angry friend to laugh by saying:

Herbert hardly knew how to answer this remark, for he saw that he had not done a very creditable thing, view it as he might, so he made a radical turn in the conversation.

"Who would have thought it, boys? We've got not only a bear, but a deer to hunt, and I say, may the best fellow win!"

And with this manly sentiment on his lips he broke into a rapid run after the buck and hound, the others following, forgetful of the little flurry a few minutes before.

It was not in the order of things that the lads should be able to make their way through the woods and undergrowth with anything like the speed of the fallow deer or dog. Hunters don't expect to overtake their game in anything like a fair chase when all are on foot, but resort to stratagem.

It was natural, therefore, that they should make a pell-mell rush after the deer and hound, and that they should keep going until, once more, they were forced to stop from exhaustion.

By this time the baying of Bowser came to them so faintly that it was plain he was a mile distant at the least, while there could be little doubt that the buck was much farther off.

"Well!" exclaimed the panting Herbert Watrous, "I can't say I see much fun in this; it's too much like chasing a railroad train."

"No," added Nick, "I don't see that there is any hope of running down the deer, who is more used to traveling than we are."

"Maybe he'll come round in a circle again," said Sam, "and we may have another chance to see him sail by, while not one of us raises his gun."

"Well," added Sam, with a sigh, "he seems to have taken the route we were going to follow to hunt the bear, so we may as well tramp along. We may get a glimpse of a buffalo or elephant next."

The baying of the hound had ceased, and, though the boys often stopped and listened, they heard nothing more of it.

"I guess he has caught the deer," said Herbert, who showed a desire to speak well of Bowser since he had failed to shoot him, "and is waiting for us."

But Sam shook his head; he knew the canine too well to believe him capable of such an exploit as that.

"I don't think he ever ran down anything yet, unless it was a chicken or cat—hallo!"

At that moment the subject of their conversation appeared on the scene, approaching as quietly as though the boys were sheep that he wished to surprise.

He lay down at the feet of Sam Harper, and, stretching out his paws, rested his head between them as much as to say, "Gentlemen, I have had enough of this sport, and resign; you will now carry it on without my assistance."

"He is tired out, and I don't wonder," said Sam, stooping over and patting the head of the hound; "he ain't used to deer hunting, and don't know much more about it than do we."

"Then he don't know anything," was the truthful observation of Nick Ribsam.

"It's my opinion that it's best to give up hunting that particular deer until we learn a little more about the right way to do it."

THE DINNER IN THE WOODS.

By this time it was close to the hour of noon, and the young hunters were hungry. They had brought no lunch with them, for that would have been an admission that they doubted their own ability to provide food for themselves in a country abounding with game.

Nick Ribsam had a paper of salt and pepper mixed, with which to season their dinner as soon as it should be secured.

The common red squirrels, or chickarees, were so plentiful that they were nearly always in sight, and, without moving from where they stood, the lads descried several running along the limbs of the trees.

"Let each of us shoot one," said Sam, walking forth to get a better aim at a fellow perched high on the branch of a large oak.

"I think I will take that one," said Herbert, indicating a squirrel which was nearer than the others. It was sitting in the crotch of a tree, nigh enough to be struck with a stone flung by a skillful thrower.

The other two watched his actions with some interest as he raised the handsome breech-loader. He took a long and deliberate aim, and gave a grunt the instant he pulled the trigger, and the sharp report broke the stillness of the woods.

Nick and Sam laughed, for the frightened rodent scampered up the tree and ran out upon a heavy branch, where he whisked from sight and then back again, chattering in such a lively fashion that it was plain he had suffered no inconvenience from the bullet sent after him.

"The squirrel doesn't seem to understand it, either," said Sam; "let's see whether you can do any worse, Nick."

"I'm going to try and bark him," remarked Nick, cocking his rifle and sighting at the little animal.

Before he could make his aim sure, the chickaree started to run along the limb, which was large and covered with thick, shaggy bark; but the muzzle of the weapon swerved slowly in a corresponding direction, and just as the game gathered itself to make a leap, the explosion came.

The others, who were watching the squirrel to note the result, saw several pieces of bark suddenly fly upward with such force that the rodent was hurled fully a foot above the limb, dropping like a wet rag at the feet of the lad, killed, without its skin being broken.

"That was a good shot!" exclaimed Sam Harper admiringly; "no hunter in the land could have barked him better than did you."

"It is easy enough; all you have to do is to cut the bark right under the squirrel's body, so that the pieces fly upward with such force as to knock the life from him."

"That's the way I'm going to kill them after this."

"It is best to practice hitting them with the ball first," Nick suggested.

Herbert solemnly removed the shell of the cartridge from his breech-loader and replaced it with a fresh one, pretending not to hear the remark of Nick.

As the two squirrels were large and in excellent condition, it was thought they would afford enough dinner for the boys, who went some distance farther until they reached a small stream of clear, icy water, where they decided to make their fire.

For a few minutes before they were ready, the odor of the broiling game so sharpened the appetites of the boys that Nick sprang up, and, hurrying out in the woods, shot another for Sam to dress and cook.

"Two ain't enough," he said in explanation, as he threw the last to his friend; "I can eat a couple myself, and Bowser looks sort of faint."

"The waste parts ought to be enough for him," said Sam, glancing at the hound, who had gulped down everything thrown him and was gazing wistfully for the next tid-bits that should fall to his share.

The clear, pure air, the vigorous exercise, and the rugged health of the boys gave them appetites scarcely less forceful than that of Bowser; and when Nick had carefully sprinkled the seasoning over the juicy, crisp flesh, and each, taking one of the squirrels in hand, began wrenching off the tender meat, he was sure he had never tasted such a delicious dinner in all his life.

The causes why it tasted thus I have already stated.