Valentine was calm, gently whistling to the bear, which gradually turned its head toward him. Curumilla, with the lighted torch in his hand, attentively watched all the animal's movements. The bear at length faced the hunter; it was only a few paces from him, and Valentine felt its hot and fetid breath. The man and the brute gazed on each other; the bear's bloodshot eye seemed riveted on that of the Frenchman, who looked at it intrepidly while continuing to whistle softly.
There was a moment, an age of supreme anxiety. The bear, as if to escape the strange fascination it suffered under, shook its head twice, and then rushed forward with a fearful growl. At the same instant a shot was fired.
Don Miguel and his son ran up. Valentine, with his rifle butt resting on the ground, was laughing carelessly, while two paces from him the terrible animal was uttering howls of fury, and writhing in its dying convulsions. Curumilla bending forward, was curiously watching the movements of the animal as it rolled at his feet.
"Thank Heaven," Don Miguel eagerly exclaimed. "You are safe, my friend."
"Did you fancy that I ran any danger?" the hunter answered simply.
"I trembled for your life," the hacendero said with surprise and admiration.
"It was not worth the trouble, I assure you," the hunter said carelessly; "grizzly and I are old acquaintances; ask Curumilla how many we have knocked over in this way."
"But," Don Pablo objected, "the grizzly bear is invulnerable; bullets flatten on its skull, and glide off its fur."
"That is perfectly true; still, you forget there is a spot where it can be hit."
"I know it, the eye; but it is almost impossible to hit it at the first shot; to do so a man must be endowed with marvellous skill, not to say admirable courage and coolness."