sword, "get to bed quickly. I'll call you at four o'clock; we'll
then start to chase the monarch of the mountains."

The Sons of the Vikings scrambled into their bunks with great
despatch; and though their beds consisted of pine twigs, covered

with a coarse sheet, and a bat, of straw for a pillow, they fell
asleep without rocking, and slept more soundly than if they had

rested on silken bolsters filled with eiderdown.
Wolf-in-the-Temple was as good as his word, and waked them

promptly at four o'clock; and their first task, after having
filled their knapsacks with provisions, was to tie Brumle-Knute's

hands and feet with the most cunning slip-knots, which would
tighten more, the more he struggled to unloose them. Ironbeard,

who had served a year before the mast, was the contriver of this
daring enterprise; and he did it so cleverly that Brumle-Knute

never suspected that his liberty was being interfered with. He
snorted a little and rubbed imaginary cobwebs from his face; but

soon lapsed again into a deep, snoring unconsciousness.
The faces of the Sons of the Vikings grew very serious as they

started out on this dangerous expedition. There was more than
one of them who would not have objected to remaining at home, but

who feared to incur the charge of cowardice" target="_blank" title="n.懦弱，胆怯">cowardice if he opposed the
wishes of the rest. Wolf-in-the-Temple walked at the head of the

column, as they hastened with stealthy tread out of the saeter
inclosure, and steered their course toward the dense pine forest,

the tops of which were visible toward the east, where the
mountain sloped toward the valley. He carried his fowling-piece,

loaded with shot, in his right hand, and a powder-horn and other
equipments for the chase were flung across his shoulder. Erling

the Lop-Sided was similarly armed, and Ironbeard, glorying in a
real sword, unsheathed it every minute and let it flash in the

sun. It was a great consolation to the rest of the Vikings to
see these formidableweapons; for they were not wise enough to

know that grown-up bears are not killed with shot, and that a
fowling-piece is a good deal more dangerous than no weapon at

all, in the hands of an inexperienced hunter.
The sun, who had exchanged his flaming robe de nuit for the rosy

colors of morning, was now shooting his bright shafts of light
across the mountain plain, and cheering the hearts of the Sons of

the Vikings. The air was fresh and cool; and it seemed a luxury
to breathe it. It entered the lungs in a pure, vivifying stream

like an elixir of life, and sent the blood dancing through the
veins. It was impossible to mope in such air; and Ironbeard

interpreted the general mood when he struck up the tune:
"We wander with joy on the far mountain path,

We follow the star that will guide us;"
but before he had finished the third verse, it occurred to the

chief that they were bear-hunters, and that it was very
unsportsmanlike behavior to sing on the chase. For all that they

were all very jolly, throbbing with excitement at the thought of
the adventures which they were about to encounter; and concealing

a latent spark of fear under an excess of bravado. At the end of
an hour's march they had reached the pine forest; and as they

were all ravenously hungry they sat down upon the stones, where a
clear mountain brook ran down the slope, and unpacked their

provisions. Wolf-in-the-Temple had just helped himself, in old
Norse fashion, to a slice of smoked ham, having slashed a piece

off at random with his knife, when Erling the Lop-Sided observed
that that ham had a very curious odor. Everyone had to test its

smell; and they all agreed that it did have a singular flavor,
though its taste was irreproachable.

"It smells like a menagerie," said the Skull-Splitter, as he
handed it to Thore the Hound.

"But the bread and the biscuit smell just the same," said Thore
the Hound; "in fact, it is the air that smells like a menagerie."

"Boys," cried Wolf-in-the-Temple, "do you see that track in the
mud?"

"Yes; it is the track of a barefooted man," suggested the
innocent Skull-Splitter.

Ironbeard and Erling the Lop-Sided flung themselves down among
the stones and investigated the tracks; and they were no longer

in doubt as to where the pungent wild odor came from, which they
had attributed to the ham.

"Boys," said Erling, looking up with an excited face, "a she-bear
with one or two cubs has been here within a few minutes."

"This is her drinking-place," said Ironbeard: "the tracks are
many and well-worn; if she hasn't been here this morning, she is

sure to come before long."
"We are in luck indeed," Wolf-in-the-Temple observed, coolly; "we

needn't go far for our bear. He will be coming for us."
At that moment the note of an Alpine horn was heard; but it was

impossible to determine how far it was away; for the echo took up
the note and flung it back and forth with clear and strong

reverberations from mountain to mountain.
"It is Brumle-Knute who is calling us," said Thore the Hound.

"The dairymaid must have released him. Shall we answer?"
"Never," cried the chief, proudly; "I forbid you to answer. Here

we have our heroic deed in sight, and I want no one to spoil it.
If there is a coward among us, let him take to his heels; no one

shall detain him."
There were perhaps several who would have liked to accept the

invitation; but no one did. Skull-Splitter, by way of diversion,
plumped backward into the brook, and sat down in the cool pool up

to his waist. But nobody laughed at his mishap; because they had
their minds full of more serious thoughts. Wolf-in-the-Temple,

who had climbed up on a big moss-grown boulder, stood, gun in
hand, and peered in among the bushes.

"Boys," he whispered, "drop down on your bellies--quick."
All, crowding behind a rock, obeyed, pushing themselves into

position with hands and feet. With wildly beating hearts the
Vikings gazed up among the gray wilderness of stone and

underbrush, and first one, then another, caught sight of
something brown and hairy that came toddling down toward them,

now rolling like a ball of yarn, now turning a somersault, and
now again pegging industriously along on four clumsy paws. It

was the prettiest little bear cub that ever woke on its mossy
lair in the woods. Now it came shuffling down in a boozy way to

take its morning bath. It seemed but half awake; and
Skull-Splitter imagined that it was a trifle cross, because its

mother had waked it too early. Evidently it had made no toilet
as yet, for bits of moss were sticking in its hair; and it yawned

once or twice, and shook its head disgustedly. Skull-Splitter
knew so well that feeling and could sympathize with the poor

young cub. But Wolf-in-the-Temple, who watched it no less
intently, was filled with quite different emotions. Here was his

heroic deed, for which he had hungered so long. To shoot a
bear--that was a deed worthy of a Norseman. One step more--then

two--and then--up rose the bear cub on its hind legs and rubbed
its eyes with its paws. Now he had a clean shot--now or never;

and pulling the trigger Wolf-in-the-Temple blazed away and sent a
handful of shot into the carcass of the poor little bear. Up

jumped all the Sons of the Vikings from behind their stones, and,
with a shout of triumph, ran up the path to where the cub was

lying. It had rolled itself up into a brown ball, and whimpered
like a child in pain. But at that very moment there came an

ominous growl out of the underbrush, and a crackling and creaking
of branches was heard which made the hearts of the boys stand

still.
"Erling," cried Wolf-in-the-Temple, "hand me your gun, and load