“I can’t say I blame you much for your merriment,” said Claud, joining, though rather feebly, in the laugh, as he brushed himself and picked up his rifle; “for, to be upset and run over by a bear would have been about the last thing I should have dreamed of myself.” “O well,” said the other, checking his risibles, “it had better turn out a laughing than a crying matter, as it might have done if you had kept your footing; for, if you had not been overthrown and run over, you would have probably, in this cramped-up place, stood up to be hugged and scratched in a way not so very agreeable; and I rather guess, under the circumstances, you may as well call yourself satisfied to quit so; for the bears have left you with a whole skin and unbroken ribs, though they have escaped themselves where, with our time, it will be useless to follow them. But, if you had not fired just as you did, we would have had all three of them.” “What! have you killed one?” asked Claud, in surprise. “To be sure I have,” answered the hunter. “Then you supposed it was one of your rough visitors I fired at, and missed? No, no. I had got one of the black youngsters in range, and was waiting for a chance at the old one, knowing if I killed her first the young ones would take to the trees, where they could easily be brought down. Seeing them, however, on the point of running at the report of your rifle, I let drive at the only one I was sure of; when the two others, they being nearly between us, tacked about and ran towards you. But go get your ’coon, and come along this way, to look at my black beauty.” “How did you know I had killed a ’coon?” inquired the other. “Heard him squall before you fired, then strike the ground afterwards with a force that I thought must have killed him, whether your bullet had or not,” replied the hunter, moving off for his bear, with which, tugging it along by a hind leg, he soon joined Claud, who was threading his way out with his mottled trophy swung over his shoulder. “Why, a much larger one than I supposed,” exclaimed the latter, turning and looking at the cub; “really, a fine one!” “Ain’t he, now?” complacently said the hunter. “There, heft him; must weigh over half a hundred, and as fat as butter,--for which he is doubtless indebted to the chief’s cornfield. And I presume we may say the same of that streaked squaller of yours, which I see is an uncommonly large, plump fellow. Well,” continued the speaker, shouldering the cub, “we may now as well call our hunt over, for to-day,--out of this plaguey hole as soon as we can, and over the lakes to camp, as fast as strong arms and good oars can send us.”