The Shadow of the Czar

by John R. Carling

"If you fire at Bruin while he is on all-fours, you waste powder and shot, for his tough shaggy sides are almost impervious to bullets. You must face him at close quarters, and when he rises on his hind legs to welcome you with that hug which is his characteristic, then is the time to aim at the vital parts. If the shots fail to take effect, and you find yourself in his embrace, you simply draw your knife, give the necessary stab, and the thing is done."

The plan seems beautifully simple.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Paul did not have the opportunity of reducing the theory to practice; for, as he slowly advanced, revolver in hand, and with his eye alert to every movement of the bear, the latter ambled off again into the wood.

Resolving to give chase, Paul turned aside from the road. He would shoot that bear, bring back some fellows from the inn to flay the animal, and present the skin to his uncle.

But Colonel Graysteel was not destined to decorate his smoking-room with a trophy of his nephew's valor, for though Paul followed hard upon his quarry, its rate of progress surpassed his own. In a few moments it had passed from view, and all the shouting and random firing on the part of Paul failed to provoke the return of the animal.

"Talk no more to me of the spirit of bears," he muttered, as he put up his weapon.

Paul turned to resume his journey in some vexation of spirit—a feeling which did not diminish as he began to realize that he had lost his bearings. All around him rose the lofty pines, obscuring his view of the road from which he had been diverted by the chase of the bear. There was nothing to indicate the way. He carried an ordnance-map of the district, and the forest was marked large upon it, but he was unable to tell what particular point of the map corresponded with his own position at that moment. Moreover, he was without a compass; and, to add to his difficulty, the sun had set.

Seek as he would he could not find the road. Now and again he shouted at the top of his voice, even at the risk of attracting the notice of persons less friendly than charcoal-burners or wood-cutters, but his cries met with no response. The silence and solitude of the leafy vistas around were more suggestive of the primeval back-woods of the New World than of an European forest.

For several hours he walked, or rather stumbled along, in the darkness, wandering this way or that, as blind fancy directed, and haunted by the reflection that Bruin might return with one of his confrères, eager to dine off a too venturesome tourist.

He had given himself up as hopelessly lost, when he came to a spot where the foliage above his head suddenly lifted, revealing a sky of the darkest blue set with glittering stars. This sky extending in a broad band far to the left and far to the right proclaimed the welcome fact that he had hit upon the road again.