Before he could struggle up to his feet, breathless from his race and the shock of his fall, the black bear dealt him a blow hard enough to knock the life out of him if he had not been nerved by a terrible anxiety that almost made him proof against her force. He got up feebly and clutched at her, muttering through a mouthful of blood:
“Zilla! Zilla!”
The name proved his salvation, for the huge black animal was opening her arms to crush him to her in a grip that meant death, but she paused in sudden indecision.
“Zilla! Zilla!” the man cried again hoarsely, entreatingly, his heart leaping to his throat in panting gasps.
A stifled moan smote his ear, but it did not come from Zilla, but from the still white something on the ground, and at the sound the bear turned toward it again with a ferocious growl.
But the great uplifted hairy paw did not fall, for with lightning swiftness, Bonair sprang forward, his fist shot out with terrible force and struck the animal just between the eyes, so that she lurched backward.
“Zilla, you devil, if you have hurt her, I will kill you!” he shouted, as he flung himself between them.
Madam Bruin, who had seen stars for a moment as his fist struck her face, now regained her feet, standing erect and menacing, but without making direct attack. She seemed dazed, stupefied, and a sort of shiver shook her huge black body.
As the moon shone down on the strange scene, she got her first look at the intruder, and she began to tremble more and more with the rush of instinctive memory. Bonair saw already that the battle was won.
“Oh, Zilla, you know me at last,” he cried, in blended relief and exultation, and added: