On fragrant hemlock boughs they
slept the sleep of unsuccessful fishermen, for upon the lake alternately
the sun made them lazy and the rain made them wet. Finally they ate the
last bit of bacon and smoked and burned the last fearful and wonderful
hoecake.
Immediately a little man volunteered to stay and hold the camp while the
remaining three should go the Sullivan county miles to a farmhouse for
supplies. They gazed at him dismally. "There's only one of you--the
devil make a twin," they said in parting malediction, and disappeared
down the hill in the known direction of a distant cabin. When it came
night and the hemlocks began to sob they had not returned. The little
man sat close to his companion, the campfire, and encouraged it with
logs. He puffed fiercely at a heavy built brier, and regarded a thousand
shadows which were about to assault him. Suddenly he heard the approach
of the unknown, crackling the twigs and rustling the dead leaves. The
little man arose slowly to his feet, his clothes refused to fit his
back, his pipe dropped from his mouth, his knees smote each other.
"Hah!" he bellowed hoarsely in menace. A growl replied and a bear paced
into the light of the fire. The little man supported himself upon a
sapling and regarded his visitor.
The bear was evidently a veteran and a fighter, for the black of his
coat had become tawny with age. There was confidence in his gait and
arrogance in his small, twinkling eye.
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