Herbert picked up his hat, muttered something impatient, and then looked
upward again, and found he was mistaken.

"I thought that big knot up there was the bear," replied the city youth,
in meeker tones.

The boys slowly circled about the tree again and again, back and forth,
scrutinizing trunk, limbs, and twigs so closely that a cat could not
have concealed itself from view.

The result was disheartening: there was no bear in sight.

"May be the trunk is hollow," suggested Sam, "and he has gone into a
hole."

They struck against the bark, but the sound showed that the wood beneath
was solid. Besides, an examination of the bark itself failed to bring to
view the scratching and abrasion that would have been made by a bear in
going up, and especially in coming down, the trunk.

Bowser, beyond all question, had been "barking up the wrong tree."

"You're a pretty hunting dog, ain't you?" sneered Sam Harper, addressing
the canine; "come here, that I may give you another switching."

But Bowser wheeled about, and, taking the trail again, trotted to the
southward, his nose close to the ground, while he bayed at intervals of
a few seconds.

"The bear ain't far off, you can make up your mind to that," said