Bruin was suspicious and evidently did not like the looks of that gleaming blade. When still a yard out of reach he halted in a crotch and snarled viciously. Then he came closer inch by inch.
Leaning still further down Harry made a lunge at the bear. Like a flash up came a forepaw to ward off the blow. Paw and blade met and the bear dropped back a little with the blood dripping from his toes.
But the animal was not yet beaten, and soon he came forward once more, uttering a suppressed snarl and showing his gleaming teeth. He kept his body low down as though meditating a spring.
It came and Harry met it with the point of the hunting knife, which sank deeply into the bear’s right eye. This was a telling blow and the beast let a loud cry of pain. Then the bear dropped back, limb by limb, to the ground.
“That was a lucky stroke,” thought the youth, and he was right. He listened intently and soon heard the bear crashing through the forest and then climbing some rocks leading to his den. With the sight of one eye gone all the fight had been knocked out of him.
Not to be taken unawares, Harry descended to the ground cautiously. But the coast was now clear, and drops of blood on the grass and rocks told plainly in what direction the beast had retreated. Not wishing for another encounter without a gun, the young pioneer moved away in the opposite direction.
“Harry!”
The cry came from the rocks close at hand and made the young pioneer leap in amazement. Looking in the direction he saw Joe standing there, backed up by Mr. Winship and Pep Frost.
“Joe!” he ejaculated, and ran toward his chum.
“Oh, how glad I am to know that you escaped!” exclaimed Joe when they were together. “I thought you were drowned surely.”