Twice
Bruce looked back, and he was grinning broadly. There was undoubtedly going
to be a very much astonished bear racing for the tops of the Rocky
Mountains in another moment or two, and between this thought and the
picture of Bruce's long lank figure snaking its way upward foot by foot the
humour of the situation fell upon Langdon. Finally Bruce reached the rock.
The long knife-blade gleamed in the sun; then it shot forward and a half
inch of steel buried itself in the bear's rump. What followed in the next
thirty seconds Langdon would never forget. The bear made no movement. Bruce
jabbed again. Still there was no movement, and at the second thrust Bruce
remained as motionless as the rock against which he was crouching, and his
mouth was wide open as he stared down at Langdon.
"Now what the devil do you think of that?" he said, and rose slowly to his
feet. "He ain't asleep--he's dead!"
Langdon ran up to him, and they went around the end of the rock. Bruce
still held the knife in his hand and there was an odd expression in his
face--a look that put troubled furrows between his eyes as he stood for a
moment without speaking.
"I never see anything like that before," he said, slowly slipping his knife
in its sheath. "It's a she-bear, an' she had cubs--pretty young cubs, too,
from the looks o' her.
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