There was a sudden splash in the water, and then a dull thud as something hard and heavy struck Loup on the nose. He jumped back with a scream of rage. At first he thought Buster had played a trick on him, but when another heavy thing hit him on the back of the head he knew differently.
From the shore there came excited cries. “Hit him again! Let me try him this time!”
Loup glanced that way, and understood instantly. Two men were standing on the shore pelting him with rocks. Two of them had hit him, and others were coming his way. There was no fight in Loup when caught in the water, and with a scream of rage he turned and swam for the opposite bank. He wasn’t going to risk the loss of his life for the sake of a good dinner.
The next story will tell how Buster met the men, and was carried away as a captive.
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!”
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.