Buster was nearly as much surprised as Loup by the sudden appearance of the men, but he lacked the strength to turn and swim back to the other side of the river. Indeed, between fear and his hard struggle he was almost ready to give up and sink. He felt he couldn’t take many more strokes even to save his life.

At first he thought the rocks were being hurled at him, but as they followed Loup half way across the river, the men throwing them until the Lynx was out of reach, he concluded that maybe he was safer on that side with the men than on the other with his old enemy. This belief was strengthened when the men stopped bombarding the Lynx, and turned to Buster.

“It’s a young bear!” said one of the men.

“Sure! I told you so before. We must save him. Here, little fellow! Come here! We won’t hurt you!”

[32]Buster looked at them with eyes that seemed ready to pop out of his head. He was so thankful that the men were not going to hurt him that he swam straight toward them. One ran out to meet him, and caught him in his arms.

“The poor little fellow’s hurt,” the man said, noticing the blood on Buster’s shoulder where Loup’s claw had caught him when he first tumbled in the river.

“I wish we had a gun to shoot that Lynx,” remarked the other. “I’ll come back and lay for him.”

The man holding Buster stroked his head and back, as he carried him up on dry land. “The poor little fellow’s tired out and half dead with fright,” he added.

“And hungry, too,” said the second man. “We must find him some warm milk. Got any in the camp?”

“Nothing but condensed milk.”

“Well, we’ll try him with that.”

They carried Buster up to their camp in the woods, and brought out a can of condensed milk. After warming some of this over the fire, they gave it to Buster.

Nothing ever tasted so good as that milk, for Buster was cold, tired and still trembling from fright and weakness. He didn’t know[33] it until then, but he was dreadfully hungry, so hungry that he couldn’t stop until he had lapped up the last drop.

The two men watched him in silence, and then patted him on the back. “You were hungry, little chap, weren’t you?” remarked one. “Well, that’s enough for the present. We don’t want to make you sick.”

“Oh, give him a bit of this honey-comb for dessert. That won’t hurt him.”

And then to Buster’s delight, the man handed him something, the very odor of which sent the blood tingling through his veins. One taste of it, and Buster was in ecstasy. It was his first taste of honey, and the grunt of pleasure that escaped his lips sent the men into a roar of laughter.

“The little chap’s having the time of his life,” one laughed. “Like Oliver Twist he’ll be begging for more when that’s gone.” Of course, Buster didn’t know anything about Oliver Twist, but he did know that he could eat that delicious honey all day, and when the last drop was gone he did beg for more.

“Stand on your hind legs and ask for it, and I’ll give it to you,” said the man.

Buster didn’t know exactly what he meant, but it was much easier to reach up to the hand[34] containing the honey when he stood on two legs, and he unconsciously obeyed.

“Now ask for it.”

Buster opened his mouth and snapped at it, but the hand was raised beyond his reach. Then, disappointed, he uttered a little cry of eagerness. To his surprise the man gave him the honey.

“That’s right,” he laughed. Then turning to his companion, he added: “I’m going to teach him tricks, Jim. You can teach a young cub almost anything if you begin early enough.”

All this was strange talk to Buster, but he had learned the first lesson of his new life—the trick of begging. After that when he wanted milk or honey or anything else, he stood up on his hind legs and grunted or cried for it. He found that he always got what he wanted in this way.

With his little stomach full of rich milk and sweet honey, Buster grew very sleepy, and when he curled up to rest one of his rescuers spread a warm blanket over him. In a few minutes he was lost in slumberland.

When Buster awoke he had a queer sensation of being carried in a hammock or something equally soft and comfortable. It was so different from his hard bed on the rocks! His[35] first thought was that it was all part of a dream, but remembering his experience with Loup the Lynx he shuddered, and set up a call for his mother. He was frightened, and whimpered so loudly that the man carrying him opened the blanket and peeked in.

“What is it, Buster?” he asked, addressing him by the very name his mother had always called him. “Hungry again?”

Buster was indeed hungry again, but he was also homesick and wanted his mother. He kept on whimpering when the man took him out of the blanket and patted him.

“Oh, give him something to eat, Bill, and stop his crying,” said the man’s companion.

So they stopped long enough to feed him again, and after that Buster felt less homesick, and, it must be confessed, forgot his mother. The men began playing with him, and Buster rolled over and gnawed at a stick for them until they roared with laughter.

“Do you know, Jim,” said one of his captors, “we’ve got a rich prize in that cub. He’s the most intelligent little chap I ever saw. I wonder where he came from.”

“Probably his mother was killed, and that Lynx knew it, and was trying to make a dinner off him.”

[36]“I’d like to get a crack at that lynx some day.”

“So would I. But I’m mighty glad we saved the cub. He’ll make a fine pet. He’s as playful as a dog.”

Buster was a little startled to hear that his mother had probably been killed. That would account for her not returning to the cave when he called her. Had Loup killed her? No, Buster didn’t think so, for his mother was big and powerful, and could easily knock a lynx over with one blow from her paw. Then who was her murderer, or wasn’t she dead?

These questions were too hard for Buster to answer, and he soon stopped trying to think of them. Meanwhile, he was safe and well fed, and his two captors liked him. Why should he worry about something that couldn’t be helped?

At night time the men came to a cabin near the edge of the woods, and Buster was given a warm blanket in one corner of it. He watched them cook their evening meal, and ate whatever they fed him. The bacon sizzling in the frying pan smelt so good that Buster poked his nose in it, and then drew back with a howl of pain. It burnt his little nose and brought the tears to his eyes.

[37]“Let that be a lesson, Buster, not to poke your nose in things that don’t belong to you,” laughed one of the men. Then he handed him a piece of bacon well cooked, and not too hot. Buster swallowed it in one gulp.

“What are you going to do with the little fellow, Jim?” suddenly asked one of the men. “You know we can’t keep him in the city.”

“I’ve thought of that,” replied the other slowly. “The only thing we can do is to sell him. He ought to be worth something.”

This was the first hint to Buster that he wasn’t always going to live with his captors, and it made him very sad. When bears were sold, what became of them? Buster didn’t know, and he went to sleep very troubled. But he wasn’t sold after all, and in the next story you will hear how he was stolen.