He had lost his tuque, and
the bear had spared time to rend it to shreds with its
great jaws and one quick wrench of its forepaws. His
stout blue coat was ripped right down the back, and
altogether he was in a sorry plight.
The cross-eyed one had never witnessed anything so funny
in all his life, and fairly danced about on the roof in
his glee. There was every chance that Leon would be clawed
up past all recognition in the next few minutes, so he
shouted encouragement to Bruin for all he was worth.
Then to the girl's horror she saw the hunted half-breed
stumble in the snow, and the bear grab him by his short
blue coat just as he was wriggling under the fence.
Dorothy did not hesitate to act promptly now. If she
did not instantly put a bullet into the bear the man
would be torn to pieces before her eyes, and that would
be too horrible. True, she might just possibly kill the
man by firing, but better that than he should be killed
by Bruin. Fortunately she was accustomed to fire-arms,
and was a fairly good shot, so, putting the rifle to her
shoulder, she took aim and drew the trigger.
It was a good shot, for the bullet penetrated a little
behind the left shoulder, in the neighbourhood of the
heart, and the bear, releasing his grip upon Leon, lurched
forward and lay still, while the breed crawled, in a very
dishevelled condition, into the horse corral.
Dorothy was congratulating herself upon her success, and
was in the act of heaving a sigh of relief, when suddenly
the rifle, which for the moment she held loosely in her
right hand, was snatched from her grasp.
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