“Yes, sir, I think so. These beasts are very fierce, and they have had so little to do with man, that they do not avoid him. We must be very steady and stand firm. I’ll attack first from the right.”
“What, with the spear?” cried Captain Marsham. “No!”
“It would be better, sir,” said the Norseman respectfully. “These animals move rather slowly. It will turn to attack me savagely; and as I try to keep it off with the spear, it will be side on to you, and give you both good shots at the shoulder. Don’t aim at the head until it is down.”
“You are right,” said the captain. “Do as you say, but take care of yourself.”
“I leave that to you, gentlemen,” said the man, smiling. “You will have to shoot the brute while I hold its attention.”
There was no more time for conversation, for the bear was coming steadily on, checked by the dog from time to time, the former action being repeated again and again, and Skene’s activity enabling him to leap away from the savage blows directed at him by the bear.
“Cartridges all right, Handscombe?” cried the captain sharply.
“Yes; both fresh.”
“Mind not to hit the dog.”
The doctor nodded, and Steve stood with his heart beating, wishing that he had the gun far away now upon the sledge, though he was fain to believe that his hands shook, so that he could not have shot straight. He had to join with Watty in occupying the position of spectators, and he was watching the bear come on, still without appearing to realise their presence, when the captain said: