Cyril flung himself down as he was bidden; the bear growled again fiercely, and turned to look at the intruder.
A shot rang through the air, another, and yet another.
With an anguished snarl the bear dropped down beside her young one, mortally wounded.
Cyril jumped up to look in the face of his deliverer. It was Mr. Ellison, who had come up just in the nick of time.
"Eh, my lad," said the saw-miller with emotion, "you had a narrow escape that time."
"Thank you—oh, thank you for saving my life!" cried Cyril.
The saw-miller sat down on a fallen tree to rest for a minute. "You must have the skin," he said, trying to speak coolly, though his voice still shook with emotion.
"But look at the poor little one! I believe it's dying. Oh, do look!" exclaimed Cyril.
The young bear was indeed expiring. As Cyril bent over it another large bear, with a terrific growl, rushed upon the scene.
Mr. Ellison's weapon was unloaded now. They were quite defenceless. The bear had the deaths of his poor mate and their cub to avenge. He was full of fury.