“Nonsense, boy!” cried the captain sharply. “Fire right at the brute’s shoulder, sending the bullet through the shoulder-blade to the heart.”
“Yes, sir,” said Steve; and he turned to Johannes. “You told me to shoot six inches behind the eye,” he whispered.
“At a walrus, sir; not at a bear.”
By this time they were about fifty yards away from the bear, which had not stirred. The captain raised his hand, and the men ceased dipping their oars, the boat gliding forward a short distance, and then coming to a stand.
“Now, Steve! Quick!”
“I—I don’t care to fire,” whispered the lad.
“Bah! What do you mean?”
“The bear’s asleep, and it seems so cowardly.”
“I’m not so particular about a dangerous beast,” said the doctor; and, kneeling in the stem of the boat, he rested his elbows on the gunwale, took a long aim, and fired, the bullet striking the bear’s shoulder with a dull thud.
“Well done! splendid shot!” cried the captain. “Right to the heart. The brute hardly moved.”