The dog jumped to meet it. He met it,
and was laid out on the grass. The bear scrambled to its feet and made
off towards Bill. Bill squealed and fell backwards over a log. Dad
rushed in and kicked the bear up like a football. It landed near Joe.
Joe's eyes shone with the hunter's lust of blood. He swung his stick for
a tremendous blow--swung it mightily and high--and nearly knocked his
parent's head off. When Dad had spat blood enough to make sure that he
had only lost one tooth, he hunted Joe; but Joe was too fleet, as usual.
Meanwhile, the bear had run up another tree--about the tallest old gum in
the paddock. Dad snapped his fingers angrily and cried: "Where the devil
was the DOG?"
"Oh, where the devil wuz the DORG?" Dave growled, sliding down the
tree--"where th' devil wuz YOU? Where wuz the lot o' y'?"
"Ah, well!" Dad said "--there's plenty more we can get. Come along."
And off we went. The dog pulled himself together and limped after us.
Bears were plentiful enough, but we wandered far before we found another
on a tree that Dave could climb, and, when we DID, somehow or other the
limb broke when he put his weight on it, and down he came, bear and all.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161