“‘Wal,’ says Wallowby, tellin’ the story, ‘I didn’t need two hints. I got holt of the edge of that roof, and I wriggled up and clumb to the chimney. And then I heard that pantin’ ’tother side o’ the stack, and next minute me ’n’ that fool bear was buttin’ our heads together. I rolled down the slope and over the edge, and ’most druv the breath out o’ my body. But, all the same, I heard an awful thud as the bear fell off ’tother side. “‘Wal, I sat there a minute or two gettin’ my wind back and my mad up. I couldn’t stay where I was--I’d ‘a’ froze stiff. And if I’d got to bet by a bear, I’d be something better’n a cold lunch, anyhow. And, besides, all my life I’d been helpin’ sufferin’ humanity dirt cheap; but I drew the line at sellin’ my life anything but dear to a wuthless old he-bear. So up I got, grippin’ the knife, and started full tilt for the front door. If that bear interfered, he’d take his chances o’ gettin’ hurt. But would you believe it? Just as I dove for the door he riz up in the darkness ahead o’ me and done the same thing, simultaneous. We whanged away at each other, and then, sir, sure as I’m standin’ here! we jammed through that door together; and fell over a stool; and he went one way, and I went another. And the knife flew out o’ my hand, and hit a log smoulderin’ on the hearth, and a flame shot up. And there on his hands and knees, glarin’ at me and wheezin’ like a broken bellows, was the ornariest old codger in a buffalo coat you ever set eyes on! “‘“Wal,” says I; “wal, but you got a mighty peculiar way o’ treatin’ company! Ain’t you got no better manners?” “‘“Why--why”--Calleck gasps--“I--I took ye for--for a bear.” “‘“Same here,” says I; “only vicy versy. And what you want to go pantin’ like one for?” “‘“It’s the--the asthmy,” says he. “And what for do you go--go traipsin’ ’round with--with that mess o’ shawl disguisin’ the human figger?” “‘I stuck out my bleedin’ hand. “Anyhow, I ain’t grown claws,” says I. “‘“Huh! neither have I,” says he, and shows what he’s carryin’. And it’s a little rake he uses to dig for his roots.’ “And that,” Lon concluded, “is old Wallowby’s own yarn o’ the biggest bear fight that ever was pulled off in these parts, I guess.” There was a roar of applause and laughter, led by the cheery boss of the camp; even Tom Orkney was grinning. Sam sent a grateful glance at the breaker of the social ice. And then, as Mr. Kane prepared to match one bear story with another, he saw Peter Groche get upon his feet and lounge clumsily to the door. CHAPTER XXIV PETER GROCHE SCORES AGAIN