Creeping behind the bear, as he was reaching after the dogs in front, he struck him on the head between the ears, while down he went, the dogs attacking his hindquarters, meanwhile, and holding on to him tightly. The tough, old fellow uttered one despairing growl, then rolled over, stone dead. His end had come.
Meshack kept absolutely still, and, as he crouched near the bear, the back-track party began to come up. All had descended from their trees when they saw the bear rolling down the hill.
“Where is Browning?” asked one.
“Goodness only knows,” answered another.
“I expect that the young fool has run on the bear and has been killed by him.”
“Hello, Browning! Hello!” cried many.
Young Meshack would not answer.
“It’s no use to call,” said one of the tree climbers. “He’s as dead as a door nail.”
Still Meshack would not answer, because he wanted to hear what they would all say.