“Look out!” shouted Frank. “Separate and fire as rapidly as you can.”
These instructions were followed.
Pomp retreated as fast as his legs could carry him with two of the bears after him. On even ground the darky might have distanced them.
But on the snowshoes he found it hot work to keep out of reach of their paws. Once overtaken, his fate would be sealed.
Knowing this, he sped on with all speed. There was no chance to turn and fire until he had gained at least a reasonable distance.
The darky was all pluck, however, and kept on at a rapid pace. Finally he managed to gain a pinnacle of ice which projected upward from the plain.
This he believed was his opportunity.
Quick as a flash he dodged behind it. Then he drew aim at almost point-blank range and fired at the first bear.
The bullet took effect in the brute’s brain, through the eye. It staggered back and then dropped in a heap.
A yell of pleasure escaped the darky’s lips. He was about to draw back the hammer and throw a second cartridge into the rifle barrel when he saw, with horror, that there was not another cartridge in the chamber of the repeater.