remarkable manner.

“What in the dickens ails the beast?” asked Step Hen. “Has a bumble bee stung him on the nose?”

“Why, don’t you see, it’s catching,” retorted Giraffe, grinning. “He saw the way Davy here was walking around on his hands, with his feet in the air; and Mike wants us to see if he can do better than that. I reckon he’ll stand on one foot after a bit, and show Davy stunts he dassent try to follow.”

“Now, there goes Molly trying the same dodge,” shouted Bumpus.

“Well, I declare, if that don’t beat the Dutch!” ejaculated Giraffe. “As sure as I live, fellers, they mean to make it a double harness affair, a team of educated mule gymnasts. Go it, Mike! Hey, show us what you can do, Molly! I’m believing she c’n beat her pardner all hollow. Look at that jump, would you? Say, they must a been eating some of that loco weed we heard about, fellers!”

“They’re frightened, that’s what!” exclaimed Thad, as he started to cast his eyes around in search of any unusual object, but failing to discover such; from which fact he judged that the mules depended on their sense of smell to tell them there was danger near by.

“Frightened; what at?” echoed Davy Jones.

“I don’t know; but if ever I saw a scared mule, that Mike is one,” Thad went on.

“Look at him jerk, would you?” cried Giraffe. “Unless that stake gives way soon, he’ll sure break his old stubborn neck. Whoa! there, you silly; nothing’s going to hurt you. Wow! there he goes awhoopin’, Thad! The stake did give way, before he dislocated his spine. And there’s Molly bound to follow after him, whoop! see her tear, would you?”

“She’s broke away too, and is trailing the rope after her!” cried Step Hen.

“And now, won’t we just have a dandy old time hunting our pack mules again; unless by some accident that stake and rope get caught in the rocks, and holds ’em up; which I’m hoping will be the case,” remarked Giraffe, looking blankly after the two disappearing animals, that, when last seen, were still acting in the most remarkable manner, and giving every evidence of a severe fright.

“Now, what d’ye suppose, scared the fools that way?” demanded Bob White.

“P’raps they just felt frisky, and wanted to show us their heels. I told you they’d be mad, if you didn’t include them on the roll call,” Giraffe remarked; though in truth, he was feeling anything but funny just then, as he contemplated the possibility of their being stranded away out there under the shadow of the great Rockies, without a single pack animal to “tote” their camp luggage either way.

“Look around, and see if you can spy anything moving,” advised the scoutmaster, making use of his own sharp eyes at the same moment.

Immediately Bumpus called out:

“What’s that lumbering along over yonder, Thad? Looks to me like an old, cinnamon-colored cow.”

Thad took one look.

“You’re away off there, Bumpus,” he remarked, in a thrilling tone; “because those two wise mules knew what was coming. That is anything but a cow or even a bull. It’s a bear!”

“A bear!” almost shrieked Bumpus, making a dive for the nearest tent, in which lay his nice ten-bore Marlin, loaded with buckshot shells.

“Yes,” Thad went on, “and a great big grizzly bear at that. Let’s hope he’ll give us the go-by, and walk on about his own business!”

CHAPTER III.
WHEN THE FOXES TOOK TO THE TREES.

“Bang!”

“Hold on there, Bumpus, you’re crazy!” shouted Thad.

“Bang!” went the other barrel of the new ten-bore gun, with which the fat scout was determined he would sooner or later get a bear.

“Oh! he knocked him over!” shrieked Step Hen, who had managed in some mysterious way to get possession of his own gun, and was visibly disappointed because it began to look as though he could not make use of it.

“Bumpus has killed a grizzly!” shouted Giraffe; and then, quick on the heels of this exultant cry he added: “no he ain’t, either! Look at him gettin’ up on all fours again! Now he’s sighted us, fellers! Here he comes, licketty-split! A tree for mine! They told us grizzlies couldn’t climb trees, you know.”

Giraffe was as good as his word. He seemed to fairly fly over to the nearest tree, and the way those supple long legs wrapped around the slender trunk was a sight worth seeing.

A panic broke out among the rest, especially when Thad shouted:

“Get up a tree, everybody! Quick, now, he’s coming right along!”

Now, Step Hen had his rifle, and knew that it could be depended on to do its work, provided the marksman himself was there with the good aim. Step Hen did not have full confidence in his ability to plant a bullet where it would do the most execution. Besides, the sight of that savage monster lumbering along, and looking so very fierce, gave poor Step Hen an attack of the “rattles.”

When he heard the scoutmaster call out for every one to hunt a tree, Step Hen felt that he must be included in that order. If all the others climbed to safety, it would be the height of folly for him to remain below.

And not wanting to play the part of Casibianca, the boy who “stood on the burning deck, whence all but him had fled,” Step Hen, dropping his gun as he ran, made for a tree that seemed to offer all the advantages of home.

Just ahead of him was Bumpus, gripping a limb with a desperation born of despair, and struggling furiously to get one of his fat legs entwined above, when he might hope to pull himself up.

Step Hen had no trouble in mounting on his side of the tree.

“Give Bumpus a hand, Step Hen!” shouted the scoutmaster, already settled in a nest of his choosing.

As one scout is expected to help another whenever the chance arises, doubtless Step Hen would have rendered this “first aid to the clumsy” even though Thad had not seen fit to call out.

There was really need of haste. The wounded bear was perilously near, and seemed to be heading straight for the tree where Bumpus was, unable, in his excitement and fright to draw his body up on the limb to which he clung.

His fat face was white, and his eyes seemed almost ready to pop out of his head, as Step Hen, bending down, caught hold of his coat collar. It looked as though the angry bear just knew which of these campers had inflicted this pain upon him, and was bent upon revenge.

But Step Hen was strong, moreover, the necessity of moving the unwieldy body of Bumpus was great. Exerting himself as the fat scout commenced to strain again, Step Hen managed to get Bumpus up alongside him.

Even then there was more or less danger that the grizzly might stand erect on his hind legs, and be able to claw them, so the boys hastened to put more distance between their precious bodies and the furious beast.

When the bear found that he could not reach any of the scouts, he spent some little time rolling from one tree to another, and looking up at the boys in the branches and sending forth loud growls.

“Scat! get out!” shouted Giraffe. “Say, he’s a goin’ to try and climb up my thin tree. Here, quit that, you old scamp! Look what he’s doin’, Thad! Wow! he wants to shake me down like a big persimmon.”

The bear did actually shake the slender tree to and fro, by exerting his tremendous strength. Giraffe had a few anxious minutes. He had to hold on with all his might to