The talk of bears had made Aunt Lizzie Philbrick so nervous that as an extra precaution she pinned the flap of her tent down securely with a row of safety-pins and Mr. Stott not only slept in more of his clothes than usual but put a pair of brass knuckles under his pillow. These brass knuckles had been presented to Mr. Stott by a grateful client for whom he had obtained damages from a street railway company for injuries received through being ejected from a saloon six months prior to the date upon which he had fallen off the car step. Brass knuckles and a convenient length of lead-pipe were favourite weapons with the clientele which gave to the waiting room of Mr. Stott's law office an odour reminiscent of a Wayfarers' Lodging House. The night was a dark one, so dark in fact that old Mr. Penrose felt some little hesitation when it came bed-time over going off to sleep by himself in the brush where, owing to his unfortunate habit of snoring so loud as to be beyond anything human, they now placed his teepee. There was not a glimmer of moonlight or starlight to guide him as he went stumbling and crashing through the brush to his rag residence. His thoughts were not so much of four-footed visitors as of footpads and the ease with which they could attack him and get away with his grandfather's watch which he was wearing. Out in the open, Mr. Appel was enjoying the novelty tremendously, though he was a little too warm for comfort in his fleece-lined bag. But after the last candle had been extinguished he called to his wife cheerily: "Are you all right, dearie?" Mrs. Appel was not to be so easily propitiated and did not answer, so he called again: "This is great--simply great! I wish you were with me." Only Mr. Appel and his Maker knew that he screwed up his cheek and winked at the fabrication. Sleep came quickly to the tired tourists, and soon there was no sound save the distant tinkle of the bell on one of the horses and the faint rumble of Mr. Penrose's slumbers. It was eleven o'clock or thereabouts, and the clouds had rifted letting through the starlight, when dark forms began to lumber from the surrounding woods and pad around the camp, sniffing at various objects and breathing heavily. There were bears of all sizes and ages, ranging from yearlings to grandfathers whose birthdays were lost in antiquity. Mr. Appel, who was a light sleeper and the first to discover them, would have sworn on a monument of Bibles that there were at least fifty of them--the size of mastodons. Palpitating in his sleeping bag in the midst of them, he may be excused for exaggeration, although, exactly, there were only eight of them.