This grizzly proved to be as timid as any of his species in this respect. When Oscar’s shout awoke the echoes of the grove he turned quickly; and, giving vent to a hoarse “huff, huff!” which resembled, in everything except volume, the sound uttered by a wild hog when he is suddenly startled, made all haste to get around the rock out of sight; but before he had taken half a dozen steps he was floored by a bullet from Big Thompson’s rifle.
Now it so happened that this veteran hunter was quite as much disconcerted at the sound of Oscar’s voice as the grizzly was. He never dreamed that the boy was anywhere in that vicinity; and if he had held his peace a moment longer the guide would have given a much better account of himself.
As it was, Oscar’s shout of warning disturbed his aim; and instead of killing the bear outright, as he could have done under almost any other circumstances, he only succeeded in inflicting upon him a painful wound, which aroused all the ferocity in his nature at once.
He got upon his feet in an instant, and, uttering growls of rage that made Oscar shiver all over, charged toward the hunter, whose coolness and courage were wonderful to behold.
Having no time to recharge his muzzle loader, Thompson grasped the barrel with both hands, and, swinging the heavy weapon over his head, calmly awaited the onset.
It was a picture for a painter; and on the brow of the hill a little distance away was another picture for that same painter, if he wanted something to represent “Fright.”
There stood Oscar, with open mouth and staring eyes, watching all that was going on below him, and so utterly overcome with terror that he did not know he had a gun in his hands.
Down came the guide’s rifle with tremendous force, and the anxious spectator held his breath in suspense while he awaited the result of the stroke. He fully expected to see the bear tumbled over with a broken head, for it did not seem possible that anything in the shape of a skull could withstand a blow like that.
It was simply terrific. The stock of the rifle, broken short off at the grip, flew ten feet away in one direction, while the barrel, slipping from the hunter’s hand, went whirling through the air in another.
The blow checked the bear for perhaps ten seconds, just long enough to give Big Thompson time enough to gather himself for a jump.