He made half a dozen of them—wonderful jumps they were, too—directing his course toward the hill on which Oscar stood, with the intention of seizing one of the overhanging branches and swinging himself out of the reach of his enraged enemy; but he had not calculated on the depth of the snow, and the first thing he knew he was floundering in a drift that was waist deep.
Oscar saves Big Thompson’s life.
He was wedged in so tightly that he could scarcely move, while the bear’s superior strength and weight enabled him to work his way through it without the least difficulty.
The fierce animal closed in rapidly upon the now helpless hunter, and Oscar’s first impulse was to take to his heels, in order that he might not see that which would surely follow when the bear came up with him.
But instead of acting upon it he did something else—something that excited Big Thompson’s unqualified admiration, and caused Oscar himself the most unbounded astonishment whenever he thought of it afterward.
He drew his gun to his shoulder, and the solid rock beside which he stood was not steadier than the muzzle of that weapon.
Taking a quick aim at the butt of the bear’s ear, near the place where the spine joins the base of the skull, he pressed the trigger, and the enraged animal fell as if he had been struck by lightning.
So did Oscar, who, as soon as he saw the result of his shot, sunk down beside the rock, at the same time letting go his hold upon his gun, which slid, muzzle foremost, down the hill, and buried itself almost out of sight in the snow.
For a moment or two after that Oscar must have been unconscious. He did not see the guide move; but when he looked toward him again Big Thompson had worked his way out of the drift; and, having picked up the barrel of his rifle, was searching for the stock.