Whether Wun Sing’s purpose was to throw himself within it he didn’t know himself, but the road toward it was the clearest and offered his best chance. Half way to the water his feet caught in his long night blouse and he tripped. Instantly the grizzly was upon him. The great furry creature sprawled over the prostrate cook, growling and snapping his teeth but as yet inflicting no further injury, and the man underneath no longer knowing anything, for his terrified senses had taken leave of his quivering body.
Slowly the bear got upright again and, for a moment towered above his helpless victim. Then seeming to have satisfied his rage in that direction, he resumed his natural position and moved back toward the house. He kept his great head well lowered, wagging it from side to side and, altogether, conducting himself like a half-blind or greatly bewildered bear.
By this time the men from the Barracks had reappeared, well armed; but as the grizzly climbed upon the veranda floor again they hesitated to fire because the low windows opening upon it were full of peeping faces. Silent Pete, alone, dared approach the creature as near as the other end of the veranda. This man had been a mighty hunter in his youth, when Colorado was an almost unknown country with few settlers and big game plentiful. His old blood had warmed to the conflict now, though he was silent as ever and paid no heed to the warnings called to him by his ranch mates. Creeping stealthily forward toward the encounter he watched his grizzly enemy with exultation, his thought being:
“He’s tough! He’s an old one! His hide’s thick—I must make no mistake. When I get nigh enough to hit him through the heart—wish he’d rise up again—queerest actin’ grizzly I ever met—likely my last one—so anxious to meet me he come a-visitin’—he, he, he! Ah! he’s risin’—I’ll—”
Out on the electric lighted grounds the men were grouped with their rifles, all anxious to fire and all eager to delay till the last moment, watching this wild beast so uncommonly near at hand. Why, from its movements it might almost have been a tame animal escaped from some menagerie. Besides, the trophy belonged to Silent Pete. He was first and hardiest to face the brute and only if his famously sure shot failed would they fire to the rescue. Yes, the bear was the old hunter’s legitimate prize—they’d wait, guns ready—
“Don’t shoot! Oh! men, don’t shoot! DON’T SHOOT!”
To the utter amazement of everyone, up flew Dorothy’s window and out she leaped, so close behind the creeping grizzly that she almost touched him: she was gesticulating wildly and her repeated cries of “Don’t shoot!” startled old Captain Lem almost to numbness.
What was that she was saying?
“He isn’t a bear! I see his feet! Bears don’t wear—SHOES!”
Alas! Her cry came too late. As bruin reared himself old Peter’s shot rang out. An instant later, with such a cry as never issued from the throat of any bear, he dropped to the veranda floor and lay there motionless. The great bear hunt was over.