“Wait!” said Jupe suddenly. “Listen!”

Bob and Pete froze. There was a soft sound behind the tent, half growl and half inquiring whimper.

“A bear!” whispered Pete.

“Don’t move,” cautioned Jupe.

A twig snapped and there was a little scrabbling noise as if a fallen pine cone had been kicked aside. The animal came into sight and paused in front of the tent. The boys could see it silhouetted against the light from the office window. It was indeed a bear, a large, hungry bear. It sniffed in their direction.

“Go away!” whispered Pete frantically. “Shhh!” warned Bob. “Don’t frighten him!”

The bear was motionless, staring at the three boys. They held themselves as still as statues and stared back. Presently the bear seemed to lose interest in the tent and its occupants. It sneezed and ambled off toward the back of the inn.

“Whew!” Pete let out a sigh of relief. “He only wants to raid the trash,” whispered Bob.

Seconds later they heard a crash as a garbage can was overturned. Through the window of the office they saw Joe Havemeyer leap up and start for the door. Before he had gone three steps, however, there was a flash of blue-white light from the back of the inn. A second later the boys heard a wild yelping, and then a cry — a human cry!

The Three Investigators scrambled out of their tent and raced for the back of the inn. They skidded around the corner of the building in time to see the bear, a dark shadow, lumbering up the ski slope. From the trees to the south of the inn came the sound of branches breaking, as if someone or something were running blindly through the thickets.

The light over the back door snapped on and the door crashed open. Joe Havemeyer burst out onto the small back porch, his tranquilizer gun ready. He glared down at the boys, then at the contents of the overturned trash can which were sprayed wildly around at the bottom of the steps. Then he gasped.

Mr. Jensen, the nature photographer, was sprawled face down amid the litter. He was wearing pajamas and a bathrobe, and one slipper had come off. His camera lay beside him, smashed to bits.

“What the…?” cried Havemeyer.

“You had a prowler,” said Jupe. He bent over the fallen photographer. “A bear. I’m afraid Mr. Jensen is hurt!”

Joe Havemeyer put down his gun and knelt beside the unconscious Jensen. “Did you see what happened?” he asked the boys.

“We saw a bear go past our tent,” said Bob. “He went around to the back of the house, and we heard the trash can go over. Then we saw a flash of light and we heard the bear yelp, and then Mr. Jensen yelled.”

Inside the inn, lights went on in every room. Cousin Anna appeared in the doorway. “Joe? What is it?”

“Jensen,” said Joe shortly. “Tried to take a flash photo of a bear and got belted. We’d better get him to a doctor.”

Mr. Smathers pushed through the door behind Anna. His sparse gray hair stood on end, and he had his bathrobe on inside out. “What seems to be the trouble?” he demanded.

Hans and Konrad followed Mr. Smathers out and came down the porch steps. “So?” said Hans. “What is happening?”

Jensen moaned, rolled over, curled his knees to his chest, and finally managed to sit up.

Havemeyer sat down on the steps, looking very frightened and, at the same time, very relieved. “You okay?” he asked Jensen.

The photographer made a grimace and put his right hand to his neck. “Someone… someone hit me,” he said.

“I think you’re lucky you’re still breathing in and out,” said Havemeyer. “Some people who get whopped by bears don’t survive the experience.”

Jensen got to his knees, then stood up and leaned against the wall of the inn. “I got whopped all right,” he said. He shook his head as if to clear it. “I got whopped, but not by that bear. Somebody sneaked up behind me and belted me in the neck.”

“Oh, come on now,” said Havemeyer. “It had to be the bear. You scared it with your flash bulb and it took a swipe at you. They can move fast, you know.”

 “I know they can, but this one didn’t. I saw it from the window in my room, so I got my camera and came down. I was aiming at the bear when I heard someone behind me. Then the flash went off, and a second later — whammo!”

Jensen straightened and glared at Mr. Smathers, who stood on the porch beside Anna. “You!” he accused. “You and your nutty ideas about animals. You did it — What did you think? I was invading the bear’s right to privacy, or something?”

Havemeyer took Jensen by the arm. “You’re upset,” he said. “Look, we’ll get you to a doctor.”

“I don’t want a doctor. I want the police!”

“Mr. Jensen.” Jupe stepped forward. “There could have been a second bear. We were here just after you shouted. There was a bear running away up the ski slope, and there was also the noise of something crashing through the trees over there.”

“I was not hit by a bear!” insisted Jensen. He shot an angry look at Mr. Smathers.

“I am not in the habit of striking my fellow creatures,” said Smathers primly. “Also, I could not possibly have struck you. I was in bed. Ask Mrs. Havemeyer. She was in the hall when I came out of my room.”

Anna nodded. “That is right, Mr. Jensen. I heard a noise and put on my robe. I was at the top of the stairs when Mr. Smathers opened his door.”

“It happened too fast,” said Havemeyer soothingly. “You couldn’t possibly remember it exactly. Not after being hit on the head.”

“The neck,” said Jensen stubbornly. “I got it in the neck. A rabbit punch. Since when do bears hand out rabbit punches?”

“Come in and we’ll call the doctor,” coaxed Havemeyer. He spoke as one would speak to an angry child.

“I don’t want a doctor!” shouted Jensen. “Call the police. There’s a criminal roaming around here assaulting innocent people.”

“Innocent people should be in their beds at this hour of night,” said Mr. Smathers, “not scaring the wits out of other creatures with their flash bulbs and their cameras.”

“My camera!” Jensen lunged at the remains of his camera. “Oh, great!” He picked up two separate pieces and looked angrily at the loop of film that dangled from the wreckage. “Vandal!” accused Jensen. The remark seemed to be directed at Mr. Smathers.

“If you drop a camera, it will break,” said Smathers. “And if you wish to call the police, I’ll be happy to talk to them when they get here. In the meantime, I am going back to bed. Don’t wake me unless there’s a good reason.”

Smathers marched into the inn, leaving Jensen to his rage.

“He’s right,” said Havemeyer reasonably. “We all ought to go back to bed.” He turned to The Three Investigators. “Bring your sleeping bags inside,” he told them. “You don’t want to be out here with a bad bear on the loose.”

“It wasn’t a bear!” shouted Jensen.

“Then what was it?” demanded Havemeyer. “Jupe here heard something crashing through those trees, so unless someone from the village has suddenly taken to a life of crime, there had to be a second bear. Now, do you want us to call the doctor? If we call the sheriff, he’ll only tell you not to wander around at night disturbing the wildlife.”

That was true, and Jensen knew it. “All right, all right,” he grumbled. “And I don’t need a doctor.” He went up the porch steps and into the kitchen, rubbing his neck.

Fifteen minutes later, The Three Investigators had moved their sleeping bags out of the tent and were comfortably installed in the living room of the inn. They waited until the noises on the second floor ceased. Then, in the darkness, Pete spoke.

“Jensen’s lucky,” he said. “Not too many people tangle with a bear and get off as easily as he did. Unless, of course, it really wasn’t a bear.”

Jupiter Jones frowned. “You’re thinking the same thing that I’m thinking. Could a bear deliver a blow that would stun a man and still not leave a scratch on him? The skin on Jensen’s neck wasn’t broken.”