f weeks, Lone Wolf and
Toomey were once more entertaining delighted audiences, while the
settlement of Lost Mountain, with Timmins' prestige established beyond
assault, relapsed into its uneventful quiet.

THE BEAR'S FACE

THE BEAR'S FACE

CHAPTER I

"There ain't no denying but what you give us a great show, Job," said
the barkeeper, with that air of patronage which befits the man who
presides over and autocratically controls the varied activities of a
saloon in a Canadian lumber town.

"It _is_ a good show!" assented Job Toomey, modestly. He leaned up
against the bar in orthodox fashion, just as if his order had been
"whiskey fer mine!" but being a really great animal trainer, whose eye
must be always clear and his nerve always steady as a rock, his glass
contained nothing stronger than milk and Vichy.

Fifteen years before, Job Toomey had gone away with a little
travelling menagerie because he loved wild animals. He had come back
famous, and the town of Grantham Mills, metropolis of his native
county, was proud of him. He was head of the menagerie of the Sillaby
and Hopkins' Circus, and trainer of one of the finest troupes of
performing beasts in all America. It was a great thing for Grantham
Mills to have had a visit from the Sillaby and Hopkins' Circus on its
way from one important centre to another. There had been two great
performances, afternoon and evening. And now, after the last
performance, some of Toomey's old-time acquaintances were making
things pleasant for him in the bar of the Continental.

"I don't see how ye do it, Job!" said Sanderson, an old river-man who
had formerly trapped and hunted with Toomey. "I mind ye was always
kind o' slick an' understandin' with the wild critters; but the way
them lions an' painters an' bears an' wolves jest folly yer eye an'
yer nod, willin' as so many poodle dogs, beats me. They seem to like
it, too."

"They _do_," said Toomey. "Secret of it is, _I_ like _them_; so by an'
by they learn to like me well enough, an' try to please me. I make it
worth their while, too. Also, they know I'll stand no fooling. Fear
an' love, rightly mixed, boys--plenty of love, an' jest enough fear to
keep it from spilin'--that's a mixture'll carry a man far--leastways
with animals!"

The barkeeper smiled, and was about to say the obvious thing, but he
was interrupted by a long, lean-jawed, leather-faced man, captain of
one of the river tugs, whose eyes had grown sha