“But the bear—she struck you down—I saw her claw you.”
“You see her strike me down,” growled Joses; “but she didn’t claw me, my lad. She didn’t hit out far enough, but she’s tore every rag off my back right into ribbons, and I’m waiting here till the Doctor brings me something else and my blanket to wear.”
“O Joses, I am glad,” cried Bart, hoarsely; and his voice was full of emotion as he spoke, while he caught the rough fellow’s hands in his.
“Don’t spoil a fellow’s cigarette,” growled Joses roughly, but his eyes showed the pleasure he felt. “I say are you glad, though?”
“Glad?” cried Bart, “indeed, indeed I am.”
“That’s right, Master Bart. That’s right. It would have been awkward if I’d been killed.”
“Oh, don’t talk about it,” cried Bart, shuddering.
“Why not, my lad? It would though. They’d have had no end of a job to dig down in this stony ground. But you’ve killed the bear among you?”
“Yes; she’s dead enough.”
“That’s well. Who fired the shot as finished her? Don’t say you let Juan or Sam, or I won’t forgive you.”