conditions,” added the confident Giraffe. “And just make up your minds I’m going to do that same stunt yet. Why, half a dozen times already I’ve been pretty close to getting fire; but something always seemed to happen just at the last minute. Once my bowstring sawed through. Another time the plaguey stick burst. Then Bumpus had to fall all over me just when I felt sure the spark was going to come in the tinder. And the last time, you may remember, when I sang out that I had it, why, down came that heavy rain, and put me out of business.”

A general laugh followed these complaining remarks from the tall scout.

“Looks like you might be hoodooed, Giraffe,” said Davy Jones.

“All right, no matter what’s the matter, if grit and perseverance can accomplish the business, you’ll see it done in great style sooner or later!” cried Giraffe, who could be quite determined when he chose.

“Then let’s hope it will be sooner,” remarked Step Hen; “because you know him well enough to understand that we’ll have no peace of our lives till he either gets his little fire started, or else makes a failure of the game.”

“Anyhow,” broke in Allan from the rear, “no matter how it comes out, the rest of us stand to have a free feast later on. It’s ‘heads I win, tails you lose,’ for the balance of the Silver Fox Patrol. And in advance, we hand our united thanks to Bumpus; or will it be Giraffe?”

“And,” Bumpus went on, calmly; “while Giraffe is worrying his poor old head over that puzzle every time we get settled in camp, I’ll be improving each shining hour like the busy little bee, trying out my new gun. Told you fellows, I was going to invest the first chance I got; and here’s my brand new double barrel; that’s guaranteed, the man said, to knock the spots out of any big game that I hold it on.”

“Huh!” grunted Giraffe, who seemed a trifle grumpy on account of having his fire-making abilities made fun of, for he was quite touchy on that score; “chances are, it’ll knock spots out of you, first of all, or give you a few to remember it by, if you go and get excited, and pull both triggers at once, as you’re likely to do, if I know you at all, Bumpus.”

“What in the wide world did you go and get a big ten bore for, when you’re such a short fellow?” asked Thad, who had often wanted to find out about this particular subject.

Bumpus, who was fondling his new possession, grinned rather sheepishly.

“Well,” he remarked, “you see, Thad’s Marlin, and Davy’s gun are both twelve guage, and I thought we ought to have variety in the crowd, so I got a ducking gun. Besides, I knew it would be better when I came to shoot buckshot in it, just like I’ve got in the chambers right now, ready for any old moose bull that chooses to show up. And in fact, fellows, it was the only sort of shotgun I could buy, unless I took one of them pump guns; and I just couldn’t think of working all that machinery when I get so rattled, you know.”

“Please keep that blunderbuss pointed the other way, Bumpus,” said Step Hen.

“Yes, for goodness’ sake don’t you turn it around here!” called out Giraffe. “If ever you blew a hole in the bottom of this canvas canoe, we’d go down like a stone.”

“I’d be sorry for that,” remarked Bumpus, still fondling his new purchase lovingly, although he kept it pointed ahead, as directed; “because, you see, we’ve got a lot of good grub aboard this canoe, and it might get soaked.”

“Huh! thinking of the grub before you take me into consideration, are you?” grunted Giraffe; and perhaps he might have said more, only just at that instant Eli turned his head and made a remark to him which caused the long-necked boy to lift his head, and then shout out excitedly:

“A bear! A bear! over there on the bank ahead!”

“Oh! where did I put my gun?” almost shrieked Step Hen, who was forever misplacing things, and then finding them again in the most unexpected places.

“Bumpus, knock him over! There’s the best chance to try your new gun you ever saw! Let him have it, you silly!” roared Giraffe.

The fat boy heard all the clamor. He also sighted the lumbering bear, which, after taking one good look at the approaching canoes, turned to shuffle back again into the shelter of the protecting brush, as though he did not much fancy any closer acquaintance with the two-legged occupants.

Bumpus scrambled to his knees. He was trembling like a leaf shaken in the gale; but nevertheless managed to clumsily throw the double-barrel to his shoulder, after pulling back both hammers.

They saw him bend his chubby neck, as though to sight along the barrels. Then a tremendous explosion occurred, as though a young cannon had been fired; and the next instant Bumpus went over flat on his back, among the duffle with which the canoe was loaded, his feet coming into view as he landed among the blankets, and the packages of food, secured in the rubber ponchos to keep them from getting wet.

CHAPTER II.
A WARNING FROM A GAME POACHER.

“Did I g-g-get him?”

Bumpus, as he spoke these eager words, managed to gain a sitting position, though his first act was to rub his shoulder as though it pained him.

There was a roar from all the boys at this remark, and indeed, even the two Maine guides grinned more or less.

“Listen to the innocent, would you?” shouted Giraffe; “when his buckshot tore up the water half way between the boat and the shore, till it looked just like one of those spouting geysers we read about, out in Yellowstone Park. Did he get him, boys?”

Step Hen put his hands to his mouth, megaphone fashion, and bawled out:

“Hey, answer that, Mr. Bear, please; let the poor boy know whether he tickled your tough old hide with one of his buckshot. Because, who knows, fellows, but what it might a glanced off the top of the water, and landed,” and he winked at Allan, who was in the canoe with Jim Hasty close by.

“I don’t hear any answer floating back,” remarked Thad; “and so we’ll have to believe that either the bear is lying there, stone dead, or else has skipped out to safe quarters. Bears never can stand being fired at by cannon, they tell me.”

“Cannon!” burst out Giraffe at this moment, for he had managed to possess himself of the new gun by pointing to it, and having Eli Crooks pass it along. “Cannon! well, I should smile! What d’ye think he did, fellers? Just exactly what I warned him to beware of, when he saw game, and got excited; pulled both triggers at the same time! Gee! no wonder it knocked him over! I’d hate to have been behind that charge myself; and I’ve stood a good many heavy ones.”

“Ain’t we going ashore to see if I did just happen to bowl that old bear over?” whined Bumpus, looking appealingly at Thad. “I’d never forgive myself, you see, if I found out that he had died, and no one even got a steak off him. A scout never wants to waste the good things of life like that, does he, Thad?”

But the scoutmaster shook his head.

“I guess there’s no chance of that happening, Bumpus,” he remarked. “By now your bear is a quarter of a mile away from here, and running yet.”

“Don’t blame him,” said Step Hen. “That new gun makes enough noise to burst your ear drums, Bumpus. And let’s hope you won’t ever pull both triggers again. Just practice putting one finger at a time in action. After you’ve shot the first barrel,