“Now,” thought Kit after the situation had held for at least half an hour, “I wonder how I’m going to shake this brute. If I let out a yell, people we don’t want to know anything about our presence here may follow the sound of my voice and make trouble with the machines before the boys get up.” An hour passed and the bear showed no signs of impatience. “If I had a good round rock about the size of a hen’s egg,” declared Kit, “I believe I could raise a welt on his nose that would put him on a fluid diet for a month! But I haven’t got any rock, and I haven’t got any gun,” wailed the boy. “All I’ve got left is my voice, and I’m going to use that right now!” In accordance with this decision, Kit threw back his chest and let out a shout which, as he believed, must have been heard far beyond the camp. Indeed it was heard at a point more distant than the place where the machines were standing. The boy listened in suspense for an answer to his call, and was soon gratified to see a motion in the undergrowth to the right. “Hello!” a voice cried in a moment. “Look out!” Kit answered. “There’s about a ton of bear under this tree! He’s waiting for his dinner!” Bruin sniffed in the direction of the newcomer, but continued to give the most of his attention to the tree and the boy it held. “Why don’t you shoot him?” “Got no gun!” “Jump down and run, then,” suggested the other. “Not me!” replied Kit. Almost before the words were out of his mouth, the whizz of a bullet cut the air, and the bear dropped, floundering and gasping, to the ground. “You can come down now!” said the stranger. “Holy Smoke!” shouted Kit. “How did you shoot that bear without firing a gun? Is he really dead?” “He’s as dead as he ever will be!” was the reply. “Did you throw something at him?” asked Kit, still wondering. The boy heard a chuckle in the bushes but saw no one. “I have a silencer on my gun,” the voice said directly. “I don’t care to advertise every bullet I send out.” The boy dropped down from the tree and stood for a moment over the bear, still twitching spasmodically, but undoubtedly dead. Then a man in the uniform of a forest ranger stepped out and looked the boy over curiously. “You’re a little mite of a fellow to be in a mix-up like this,” the ranger said. “Where are your friends?” “Down in the valley,” replied the boy. “We came across in flying machines and we’re taking a little rest.” “Rather a dangerous locality to take a little rest in,” smiled the other. “You ought not to remain here long.” “Why don’t you go down and talk to the boys?” asked Kit. “I left them asleep by the machines.” “Well,” the visitor said, after a moment’s hesitation, “I may give you a call this evening, if you are still in the valley. Just now I have an important engagement.” “We’ll be glad to see you,” replied Kit. “So you came over in flying machines, did you?” asked the man in ranger’s uniform. “That’s what we did,” replied the boy.