The girl reached the young man.
“Keep on, Miss,” he cried, quickly; “fly for your life! I’ll keep the brute at bay.”
Small time was there for conversation, for the bear, at his lumbering trot, was coming rapidly onward.
“He will kill you!” cried the terrified girl.
“Yes, and you, too, if you don’t run,” said the young man, coolly. “One life is enough; so save yours.”
“I will not go!” exclaimed the girl. “Give me your powder flask and a bullet. After you fire, if you miss him, I can load.”
The hunter threw a glance of admiration at the heroic maid who seemed so cool at this moment of danger; but he did as she requested. Then, as the bear came on, he leveled his rifle at the brute, and sighting one of his eyes, fired. But the bear swerving in its course at the moment, the ball glanced across his bony head and shot off as if it had been but a boy’s marble.
The beast paused for an instant, shook its head as if annoyed, then, with an angry growl, he came straight upon the young man.
Winthrop had handed his rifle to the girl, and, drawing his knife, awaited the onset. His only hope of escape was to close in with the animal, and stab him in some vital part before he could use the terrible claws and teeth.