"If you tell them I'll lick you!" exclaimed Willis. "Make them
believe we've been guarding this bear!"

John and I did not know what to think of so glaring a deception;
but Willis did the talking; and when Ben called out to demand why
in the world we had not come home, Willis shouted:

"We've got a big bear under the barn! He's ours, and we are afraid
he'll get away!"

Neither Ben nor Mr. Eastman asked us another question, but hastened
to see the bear. A plank was pulled up, and then Ben shot the beast
at short range. It did not even growl.

They made a rude sled of saplings, of the kind known to hunters as
a "scoot," and drew the bear home; and from the vainglorious talk
of Willis one might have thought us the three most valiant lads
that ever ranged the forest! John and I said little. It was rather
fine to be considered heroes, who would not leave a bear even to go
home to a Thanksgiving dinner; but I am glad to remember that we
did not feel quite right about it; and soon afterward John and I
revealed the true state of things to our folks at home.

The Murches claimed the lion's share of the spoils, but gave John
and me a dollar apiece; and I recollect that I had a very bad cold
for a week. Sam's cut foot healed promptly. It was dressed three
times with powder-post, and showed no sign or symptoms of "proud
flesh."