“He is coming for you!” screamed Harry. “Get out of the way, unless you want to be hugged to death!”
Joe had scarcely time enough to throw some powder and a bullet into his rifle, and fix the priming, when the huge black beast made a leap for him. Crack! went the firearm, and the bear was struck on the side of the neck. With a snort of pain he stopped once more, then turned and hurried away as before.
By the time Harry was ready to fire again the bear was out of reach of his gun, behind a growth of trees and brushwood. He was keeping to a stretch of ground swept clear of snow by the wind. When the boys reached the timber he had disappeared in the vicinity of a pile of rocks.
“More than likely his den is in there,” said Joe. “We want to go slow now, or we’ll fall into a trap.”
The tracks of the bear were plainly to be seen. They led over the very roughest of the rocks, where it was utterly impossible to follow with snowshoes.
“We’ll have to take the shoes off and strap them to our backs,” said Joe, and this they did, keeping an eye open for the black bear in the meantime.
The rocks were covered with slippery ice, and both had not progressed far before they began to slide in one direction or another.
“Take care,” said Harry. “Give me your hand,” and they moved forward holding tightly to each other.
All might have gone well had not the bear suddenly appeared when least expected. This caused the young pioneers to start back, and both lost their balance and slipped from the rocks to an opening far below.
“Help! help!” cried Harry, and then plunged into a snowbank, with Joe after him.