A sharp “click” close to Frank’s ear announced that Will was at his old tricks again.  He had snapped off a view of the shaggy visitor squatted there with the open kettle between his paws, scooping up its juicy contents with evident relish.  Canned corn was a treat that did not come his way every day, and Bruin meant to make the most of his opportunity.

“I thought I had a glimpse of something moving over there back of the tent, and it might be Bluff.  I hope he don’t try to shoo the old varmint off before we get a whack at him.  I’ve only got bird-shot in my gun but at close quarters that ought to do as well as a bullet, eh, Frank?” asked Jerry, excited at the prospect.

“Wait I’ve a notion that you may be surprised yet.  I’ve also a hunch, my boy, that there will be another claimant for the honors of this campaign.  Sometimes surprises spring out of the very earth.  Watch!” said Frank, laying a hand on the gun of his chum, as though impelling him to hold his fire.

Suddenly there was a loud bang!

The bear rolled over in a heap regardless of the congregated tinware that was consequently sent scurrying to the right and to the left.

“Who fired?” shouted the amazed Jerry.

“Look out, fellows, the old rascal’s up again, and I guess I’d better get behind a tree with my camera!” exclaimed Will, suiting the action to the words with commendable rapidity.

Bang! went a second discharge at this juncture, and the bear now turning bit savagely at its hindquarters as though its wounds smarted severely.

Immediately a third discharge followed the others.  Bruin had by this time apparently sighted the party from whom all these stinging cuts must have proceeded.  He gave a roar of rage and lumbering awkwardly across the space started to try and climb a little tree just alongside one of the tents.

“It’s Bluff, and he’s up in that tree!” shouted Will, as he peeped around his own shelter, and took in the picture with another “click.”

“But—­he’s got a gun!” stammered Jerry.

“Of course he has.  Didn’t he bring one with him?  Perhaps a good fairy may have given him a tip as to where it could be found.  There! he has fired again, and that time he missed, for the range was too close.”

Frank, as he was speaking, commenced to advance into the open.

“Looky out, Marse Frank, he chaw yuh up, clean suah!” bawled Uncle Toby, from the crotch in the tree where his ladder had allowed him to reach.  “Git up heah, honey, whah he can’t reach yuh.  Dat b’ar am ma-ad clar t’rough!”

“Four times he’s shot—­didn’t I say he couldn’t hit the side of a barn.  Think of him carrying a Gatling gun,” said Jerry.

“But he has hit him more than once.  Look how the brute is bleeding, and just to think, Jerry, he’s got two more chances.  Those pump-guns don’t seem so very bad in an emergency,” laughed Frank, who seemed to be enjoying the little affair very much indeed.