Instantly both rifles were swung towards the big, yellowish white creature, and as for a moment he halted and his long neck moved back and forth, and his black nose sniffed the air, Jim counted; “One, two, three!” and the two guns roared out as one.
With startled hoarse croaks the raven took wing. The huge shaggy bear reared on its hind legs, pawed frantically at the air, growled, snapped his long white teeth savagely, and then lurched forward and slid a dozen feet down the hillside.
“Hurrah! we got him!” yelled Jim and leaping up the boys raced towards the fallen bear without stopping to reload their rifles.
Like a miniature mountain of shaggy white fur he lay there, a broad red splotch upon his side. The two elated boys, whooping and yelling, hurried forward. They were within a dozen feet of the enormous creature when to their horror and amazement the bear scrambled to his feet and with open jaws and savage growls sprang at them.
Uttering one wild yell of terror, the boys turned and fled up the hill for their lives. Behind them they could hear the low, menacing, awful growls and the sound of crunching snow. As they gained the summit of the ridge they turned, threw up their rifles, took quick aim and pulled the triggers.
But the hammers clicked harmlessly upon the empty shells. There was no time even to throw fresh cartridges into the chambers of their rifles. Less than twenty feet separated them from the infuriated, wounded monster. Again, yelling, they took to their heels. Then, to Tom’s brain, came a sudden remembrance, the story of Ukla and the fog which Unavik had told them, and in panting, gasping words he shouted to Jim:
“Don’t run down hill! Run along the side and then up again!”
Scarcely knowing why he did so, Jim obeyed, and winded, almost ready to drop, the boys again gained the summit of the ridge. Once more they glanced back. Tom’s ruse had worked. The bear, heavy and cumbersome, had been unable to check his own momentum as he topped the ridge and had half slid, half rolled for fifty yards down the slippery slope. But he had now turned and was once more lumbering towards them. With shaking, trembling hands they reloaded their rifles, took aim at the bear’s breast and fired.
Their shots went wild. Bits of fur flew from the bear’s back. He jerked his head to one side as a bullet nicked his cheek and then, with redoubled roars of rage and increased speed, he fairly hurled his great body up the slope.
“Gee, I wish we were magicians!” gasped Tom. “Come on—run down the hill a way and then up again. It’s our only chance!”