YIELDING to a feeling of slight uneasiness, Harvey Hamilton lighted several matches and made an inspection of his aeroplane. With vast relief he found it unharmed. If any one had come upon the machine he had not molested it. It was ready for service and he had a good supply of gasoline and oil.  
He had placed his bag of sandwiches on the rear seat. Removing the food to the one he used when sailing through the air, he adjusted himself in the upper seat. Here with his coat wrapped about him he said his prayers, and settled down for a night’s slumber. He was tired and needed rest, but his mind was so full of what he had learned, and with speculations as to the immediate future, that he remained awake far longer than was his usual habit.
 
A strange theory took shape in his mind. It was in effect that when Professor Morgan made his first experimental flight he took Bohunkus with him to some point where he had been left with orders to stay until his master—as the man undoubtedly[79] was—called for him. If he kept Bunk at the “works,” the boy was quite sure to meet others who might persuade him to run away. Hidden somewhere in the wilds of the Adirondacks he would not dare do this, but would meekly obey instructions. He would be kept there until the Professor had perfected his invention and returned, when he would pick up the youth and start on their trip to Africa. The question of food was simple: Morgan could readily take what the fellow needed, though not all he wished, to him.
 
On the supposition that our young friend was right in his surmises, what could he do to save his comrade? In what respect was the situation improved or the problem simplified? A man can disguise his personal appearance and often successfully shadow another, so long as both keep their feet on the solid earth. But nothing of that nature was possible in the present instance. The first sight which Professor Morgan should catch of Harvey’s biplane would tell the whole story. He would know the youth had returned to the lower Adirondacks to take Bohunkus Johnson from him. The discovery could not fail to throw him into a flaming rage, and he would exert himself to destroy the audacious pursuer. Harvey felicitated himself upon his possession of the revolver and a[80] supply of cartridges. While he did not hold the crazy inventor in fear, he dreaded unspeakably a hostile encounter with him, for the consequences were sure to be tragical.
 
Finally the wearied youth drifted into dreamland, slightly chilled but on the whole fairly comfortable. He became cramped and as a consequence awoke before the night had fully passed. He shifted his posture and noticed that the risen moon lighted the plain and showed the dark line of the forest on the farther side. He had reached the point of half consciousness, with his nerves at the highest tension, when he was startled by hearing a footfall among the shadows at his side.
 
“Somebody is prowling near,” was his thought as he sat upright and listened. He heard again the sound of rustling leaves, which showed he was not mistaken.
 
“Hello out there!” he called in a guarded undertone; “who are you?”
 
The noise ceased and there was no reply. Once more the rustling was noticeable.
 
“Why don’t you answer me? What do you want?—Great heavens!”
 
Well might he utter the exclamation, for there was an ominous growl and a big black body lumbered[81] from the wood in the moonlight and swung toward the aeroplane.
 
“A bear, as sure as I live!” gasped Harvey, leaving his seat at a bound and taking care to land opposite the intruder. The latter stopped, looked at him and rearing on its hind legs, reached out one of its huge paws and drew the bag of sandwiches from its place. He must have scented the meat between the slices of bread.
 
The food dropped to the ground and he clawed the paper into strips, thrusting his snout among the tidbits, which he began devouring with the gusto of Bohunkus Johnson himself. No doubt he found them delicious, but the drawback was that the supply only whetted his appetite for more and there was none to be had. Again he rose on his hind feet and began exploring the framework of the machine.
 
“Confound you!” shouted the alarmed Harvey; “you’ll smash things all to pieces!”
 
It looked the next moment as if the bear meant to climb into the seat and take charge of matters. The grim humor of the situation struck the boy.
 
“I wonder if he has had lessons in aviation and wants to show off his skill. Wouldn’t he cut a fine figure in my place, yanking the levers and cruising round in the sky? What would Professor Morgan[82] think if he saw him? Probably he would suspect it was I trying to disguise myself.”
 
But there was a serious side to the situation. The machine was likely to be injured beyond the present power of repair unless the brute were driven away. After nosing for some minutes he seemed to know that no more sandwiches remained. That being the case, what more tempting morsel could he ask than a plump American youngster about seventeen years old? Probably from his standpoint there was none, for at this juncture he dropped back on all fours and started round the aeroplane with a view of sampling that youngster.
 
“This is a good time for me to leave,” was the hasty conclusion of Harvey, who plunged into the woods, with the bear in hot pursuit. He knew something of such animals, and although he could see only dimly in the gloom under the trees, he recognized a sapling by running against it and nearly knocking himself senseless. He staggered back, recovered himself, and grasping the small trunk, ascended it faster than he had ever before climbed a tree. He strove desperately, expecting every second that the enormous claws of the bear would grip one of his legs and drag him back to the ground, but when he had gone so high that his[83] support began bending over alarmingly, he knew he was secure for the time.
 
A few moonbeams straggled through the limbs and showed the dim outlines of the shaggy brute, which once more rose on his rear legs and reached upward, as if he expected his supper to drop into his maws.
 
“You can wait there till doomsday, but you won’t see me coming down to meet you.”
 
Harvey was twelve or fifteen feet from the ground, enough to ensure his safety so long as present conditions continued. He had reached a limb half as thick as the sapling and he swung a leg over it. Thus he was able to sustain himself, but the position soon began to be irksome. The limb chafed his leg, and when he shifted it as much as he could the relief lasted only a few minutes.
 
Meanwhile, he kept his enemy under observation. The ursus species is not noted for its intelligence, but after awhile this one decided he was baffled for the time. His kind cannot climb a small tree, though they find little difficulty in going up a shaggy trunk around which their claws do not meet. This specimen sank back on all fours, but held his place at the foot of the sapling.
 
“Now what is he thinking about?” Harvey asked himself, with a chill of fear the next minute,[84] when his support was violently shaken; “I wonder whether he’s going to pull up this young tree by the roots. I don’t believe he can do it, but if he knew enough he could wrap his paws around it and draw it over to bring me within reach.”
 
The shaking ceased, as if the bear had given up that idea, if indeed he had ever held it. The obscurity was too deep for Harvey to make sure, but he fancied that a tree, probably an oak, with trunk several feet in diameter, grew so near the sapling that it was within reach of his hand.
 
“Like enough he will climb it,” reflected Harvey, “till he is higher than I am and then drop down on my head. Why don’t he give up and clear out?”
 
A little later it looked as if the brute had decided to do the very thing a certain youth up a tree wished him to do. He lumbered off a few paces, taking him beyond sight in the dense shadows. The rustling of the leaves grew fainter, and by and by ceased altogether. Harvey’s hopes rose, when fifteen minutes passed without the sound of a growl or the stirring of the dead leaves on the ground.
 
“I believe he has gone,” whispered the lad, as if afraid his voice might bring back his enemy. “But it’s best to make sure.”
 
[85]By and by the chafing by the limb which he bestrode grew unbearable. He drew his leg over and began sliding down the smooth trunk, inching along, often pausing, listening, and peering into the dusk, ready to scramble up again on the first sign from his foe.
 
After a long time, he felt the toe of one shoe softly touch the leaves. He lowered the other and stood erect. The relief from his onerous posture was great.
 
“It does a fellow good,” he mused, “I wonder how those hunters stand it when they are treed and kept off the ground for hours at a time. I’m glad I’m rid of this plaguy bear—Great Cæsar!”
 
A terrific threshing of the undergrowth showed that the brute was returning like a cyclone. He had gone only a few paces, as if to tempt the fugitive to do the very thing he had done. I have said that Harvey Hamilton when first chased by the black bear climbed the sapling more quickly than he had ever done a similar thing before. I must add that this second exhibition in that line surpassed his first, and established a record. In a twinkling he was up on his perch again, with one of his muscular legs doubled over the limb, feeling as if he would stay there a week before running[86] so fearful a risk as the one from which he had just escaped.
 
“Of all creatures in the world,” he said disgustedly, “the bear is the meanest. I never harmed this one, and what has he got against me? He stole my lunch and wants to use me as dessert. It isn’t very pleasant up here,” he sighed, “but it beats being chewed up by a bear. I wonder whether there’s anybody near enough to hear me if I yell.”
 
He was reluctant to resort to this, since the coming of any person in the circumstances was likely to interfere with his search for his missing comrade. He decided to wait, hoping that after all the bear would grow tired of hanging around and swing off into the woods.
 
Harvey held on like a hero, shifting his position so far as he was able, until it became so irksome that he decided to slide down the trunk and run for another tree. His dread was that in making the attempt he would blunder and not find the refuge at instant command; for with a ravenous bear at one’s heels no person can afford to move leisurely.
 
When it seemed that an hour had passed, though the time was much less, he called out, pretended to descend the sapling and really did go part way.[87] The silence was so complete that hope sprang up again, and by and by he glided slowly down inch by inch until his feet once more touched the leaves. He stood waiting and listening, but heard nothing to send him scrambling back to his perch.
 
“I’ll try it!” he said and began stealing toward the edge of the wood where the aeroplane was half hidden in the foliage and under the limbs of the trees. He stepped as carefully as an Indian scout, with hands outstretched, feeling his way and ready to climb in a flash another trunk the instant it became necessary. He knew he was advancing so silently that if the brute was within two or three yards he could not hear him.
 
Harvey took comfort in the thought that whatever might happen, he was through with the refuge that had tried him so sorely. There couldn’t be another precisely like it and that of itself was immeasurable relief.
 
“I should prefer a big tree even with the risk of his following me—Confound it!”
 
Just then he caught his foot in a thick root which lay parallel to his course and with the free end projecting toward him. He raised his shoe to step over it, but the obstruction rose also, and despite a fierce effort to save himself he fell forward on his hands and knees with a racket that[88] could have been heard far away in the stillness. Certain that his foe would be upon him the next moment, he made a dash in the dim light, but was brought up standing by an obtruding limb which slipped under his chin and fairly lifted him clear of the ground. For a single second, he fancied his head had been shorn off his shoulders, and he made a wild dash for another sapling. He collided with a trunk and in his panic turned again, and then suddenly halted.
 
Surely, if the bear was anywhere near, he would rush for the spot, but he heard nothing. He now changed his course so as to reach the open within a few yards of his aeroplane. Most likely the brute had grown tired of waiting and gone off. The youth might have left his sapling some time before and escaped all he had suffered.