"I guess I do remember it," answered Cyrus, laughing.

"A mighty hungry man I was, too, that evening," went on Doc; "for I had
no food left but one little package of soup-powder and a few beans. I
had been trying all day to get a successful shot at a moose or deer, and
muffed it every time. It wasn't the lucky side of the moon for me. Well,
you behaved like the Good Samaritan to me, then, Cy; shared your meat
and all your stuff, and we slept like twin brothers under my shelter."

"Yes; and a bear visited our temporary camp in the night!" exclaimed
Cyrus, bursting into uproarious mirth over some over-poweringly funny
recollection; "he made off with my knapsack, which I had left lying by
the camp-fire. I suppose old Bruin thought he'd find something good in
it to eat; but he didn't. So he tore my one extra shirt and every
article in the pack to shreds, and chewed up the handle of my razor, so
that I couldn't shave again until I got back to civilization, when I was
as bristly as a porcupine."

"Perhaps Bruin tried to shave himself," suggested Dol.

"At all events, he had wisdom enough not to cut his throat," answered
the story-teller. "We three--Doc, my guide, and myself--were stupidly
tired, and slept so soundly that we did not discover the theft nor who
the marauder was until the following morning. Then we found my knapsack
gone, and the tracks of a huge bear in some soft earth near our shelter.
We traced his footprints through a bog until we found the spot, not far
off, where, overcome by greed or curiosity, he ripped up that strong
leather knapsack as if it was _papier maché_ and made hay of its
contents."