"I've been thinkin' about thet," replied the hunter, "an' I reckon we can.
Tomorrow we'll cross the ridge high up back of thet spring-hole canyon, an'
sneak down. 'Pears to me them fellers will be trailin' you pretty hard, an'
mebbe they'll leave only one to guard Leslie. More'n thet, the trail up
here to my shack is known, an' I'm thinkin' we'd be smart to go off an'
camp somewhere else."
"What'll I do about Cubby?" I asked, quickly.
"Cubby? Oh, thet bear cub. Wal, take him along. Youngster, you don't want
to pack thet pesky cub back to Pennsylvania?"
"Yes, I do."
"I reckon it ain't likely you can. He's pretty heavy. Weighs nearly a
hundred. An' he'd make a heap of trouble. Mebbe we'll ketch a little
cub--one you can carry in your arms."
"That'd be still better," I replied. "But if we don't, I'll try to take him
back home."
The old hunter said I made a good shot at the big bear, and that he would
give me the skin for a rug. It delighted me to think of that huge glossy
bearskin on the floor of my den. I told Hiram how the bear had suffered,
and I was glad to see that, although he was a hunter and trapper, he
disliked to catch a bear in a trap. We skinned the animal, and cut out a
quantity of meat. He told me that bear meat would make me forget all about
venison.
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