Without hesitating for a moment, he cocked both barrels of his gun, and taking a quick aim just above the eyes he saw before him, he pulled both triggers. A loud report rang through the forest, and the head disappeared.
Phil, astounded by the discharge of the gun, started to run toward Adam, but the latter waved him back, and retreating a short distance, began rapidly reloading.
When this was done, he waited a few minutes, and then, closely followed by Phil, he approached the bush at which he had fired.
Hearing nothing but the little whimpers which had before attracted his attention, he cautiously made his way around the bush, his gun cocked and ready for instant use.
But there was no occasion to use it. Upon the ground lay a large she-bear, dead, with twelve buckshot in her brain. In a slightly-hollowed place in the ground behind her were two young bears, about a foot long, round and fat, and rolling and pawing each other, while they continually sniffed and whimpered as if they wanted something, but did not know what it was.
Adam tucking the other under his left arm.
Phil gave a shout of triumph when he hurried up behind Adam and saw the dead bear.
“Why, this is glorious!” he cried. “Who could have thought you would have shot a real wild bear? Are you sure it’s dead?”
“Oh, yes,” said Adam, cautiously punching the animal with the end of the gun; “bears don’t play ’possum. I put both loads into her head. And I didn’t do it any too soon, either. In two seconds more she’d a’ been out after me.”