CHAPTER XXIV

A WILD MIX-UP

Just when Joe, trapped in the sleeping-bag, with the ponderous bear moving near him, was wondering what had happened to Jennings, he felt himself suddenly lifted from the ice and shaken till his teeth rattled. Then suddenly he went crashing upon the hard surface beneath him.

He guessed well enough what had happened: The bear had seized the sleeping-bag and having lifted it as a cat lifts a rat, had shaken it violently. Then the deerskin had given way beneath Joe’s weight and he had gone down with a thump.

“What next?” his agitated mind asked him. “What next?”

He could only guess at what happened next. Inside his sleeping-bag he could see nothing. But that something tremendous was happening he was forced to believe.

From the mouth of the bear there came a sudden sound like the hissing of a cat, and after that such a tumbling and thrashing as he had never heard tell of.

Over and over the bear appeared to roll. There were sounds of tearing canvas and straining ropes. Once the bear rolled across his feet and for a second he feared he would be lamed for life. Then suddenly the sound ceased. He only knew one thing, which was that something heavy rested on his sleeping-bag.

To realize what had really happened we must follow Jennings as he proceeded to meet this strange and novel situation. Being more fortunate than Joe, he had succeeded in wriggling from his sleeping-bag and in grasping his rifle before the bear saw him. He had been engaged in the business of getting a bead on the bear’s ponderous head when there came a sudden tearing at the ropes of the tent. The next instant it doubled up and came flapping down upon him.

If you are able to imagine what it might be like to be caught in a net with a whale, you have some notion of Jennings’ position at this time. The tent had enveloped both him and the bear. Together they rolled over and over. One moment it seemed he would be crushed to death and the next, as an opening appeared, a new rent in the canvas, it seemed that he might be freed.

At last, with a mighty effort, he wrenched himself loose and, much to his own astonishment, found that he still grasped his rifle in his left hand.

The bear was still thrashing about. Joe was still buried beneath the tent. Jennings was just trying to figure out the next move, when he heard one of the dogs let out a wild ki-yi-yi of fright.

Wheeling about, he saw a huge bear grasping a dog by the middle of the back with his teeth and attempting to carry him away. Since the dog was chained to a sled and six other dogs were also chained to that sled, it was necessary for him to drag the sled and six very reluctant dogs after him.

“Be funny if it wasn’t serious,” said Jennings grimly as he took steady aim at the beast’s head. Three times his automatic rifle barked. The bear crumpled up in a heap.

There was, however, not a second to be wasted. As he turned he found himself staring at a towering white apparition. This apparition, which stood some three feet above his head, had red gleaming eyes and a lolling tongue. The second bear had escaped from the tent. Angered by his experience and the death of his companion, he was ready for battle with these strange invaders of his domain.

“Want satisfaction, do you?” said Jennings grimly. “Well! There! Take it!”

With a movement that for speed and accuracy could not be beaten, he thrust the muzzle of his rifle at the base of the beast’s skull and fired.

Thus a second bear had just been bagged by Jennings when Joe came creeping out of his sleeping-bag. For a few seconds he sat rubbing his shins. Then suddenly his face lightened with a smile as he sang out:

“We killed the bear! Betsy and I killed the bear.”

“Well, anyway,” smiled Jennings, “you’re going to have one of your dearest wishes granted. Your old dorgs, Ginger, Pete, Major and Bones, won’t have to be fed to the starvin’ explorers. Here’s a day’s rations for a regiment of soldiers. I bet that big bear weighs a ton and a half.”

“Whoop-ee!” cried Joe springing to his feet and rushing over to embrace his astonished friend, Ginger. “That’s sure good news to us!”

“Sixteen inches between the ears,” pronounced Jennings after measuring with his hands the skull of the fallen Goliath of the North. “Some bear!”

“Some bear, I’d say!” echoed Joe.

“There’s a day’s work to be done on the tent,” said Jennings. “He ripped it up something awful. But we’ll have to make it do at least till we meet Munson.”

“Yes, and till we get ashore.”

“Guess so. Lend a hand and let’s see what shift we can make for a wink more of sleep before we march on.”

In a few moments Joe and Jennings were curled up in their sleeping-bags, snoring as if they were safe in bed at home.