"He's there yet," said Bert. "The hounds have scented him already."
"It looks like it," replied Don. "Well, we came here to find him, and
if he drives us away to-day he'll have to fight to do it. Dave, you'd
better load up--Bert has plenty of loose buckshot in his pocket--and
mind you now, fellows, don't get excited and shoot the dogs. I'd
rather let the bear go than have one of them hurt."
While David was loading his single-barrel--his hands trembled a
little, and it took him longer than usual to do it--Don and Bert sat
with their guns across their knees, closely watching the island,
while the hounds stood in the bow snuffing the air. They caught some
taint upon the breeze, that was evident, for the long hair on the
back of their necks stood erect and now and then they growled
savagely.
When David had driven home a good-sized charge of buckshot and placed
a cap upon his gun, he leaned the weapon against the thwart upon
which he was sitting and picked up the oars. Don dropped his paddle
into the water, and the canoe moved around the foot of the island and
along the beach, until it reached a point opposite the place where
Bert had found the path the day before. Then it was turned toward the
bank, and the moment the bow grounded, the hounds sprang out.
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