“It’s going to run,” said Jakobsen.
Hardly had the words left his lips than the bear made a rush right at the centre of their line.
Bang—bang—bang! Three shots were fired almost simultaneously, but they did not have the slightest effect, the bear rushing on, and the next minute the doctor was gathering himself up, and the bear was shuffling along the shore, apparently in pursuit of Andrew McByle, who ran on yelling, and fired twice in the air, as if sending the charges of the gun he carried right ahead, where he wished to be.
“Hurt?” cried the captain anxiously, as he held out his hand to the doctor.
“Only the wind knocked out of me,” was the panting reply. “Come on.”
They re-loaded as they followed the bear at a trot, and to Steve’s great delight, there was a sharp barking, for Skene leaped up as the bear passed him, and, apparently without much the matter, followed the great beast.
“I don’t think we touched him,” cried the captain.
“Yes,” said Johannes simply, as he ran by Steve’s side with his spear at the trail. “Blood.”
He pointed to the ground, but Steve said nothing as, full of excitement now, he kept pace with the others in the pursuit.
“Quick!” cried the captain; “fire anywhere now, or the brute will overtake that man.”