But Bolo was so excited that the arrow flew wide of its mark. The bear roared more angrily than ever.
Bolo sat down on a thick limb. He was not so sure of killing the bear now. He fitted the next arrow very carefully and waited till the bear had turned so as to face him. Then he drew the shaft back against the taut string and took steady aim.
“Twang!” went the second arrow.
What a roar there was then! The arrow pierced the bear’s shaggy hide just above her shoulder and she rolled over and over on the ground, clawing at it and howling with pain and anger. But presently she was up again, tearing madly at the tree where Bolo was sitting.
“[There was only one arrow left]”
[There was only one arrow left]. Bolo’s face grew very sober as he fitted it to the string. If he should not kill the bear this time poor Fisher would have to stay where he was until some of the men came home. He might grow so weary that he could not hold on any longer, and then the bear would eat him.
But if he could kill the bear! Ah, then he would be a hero indeed—a great hero like One Eye. And then, too, the cave men would all see what a fine weapon the arrow was, and they would know that One Eye was wiser than they were. But even One Eye had not thought a bear could be killed with arrows.
Bolo waited until the bear was over her first rage and had grown quiet again. By and by she paused a moment with her forepaws against the tree, looking up into the branches. Bolo took careful aim right at her small, wicked-looking eye.
The third time the arrow flew from the string. And this time it went straight to its mark! The bear shrieked with agony and reared up on her hind legs. Then she rolled over on her side in the grass. Bolo waited to see if she would get up. Then he called to Fisher.