ic 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, "han