Again the Russian with the knife closed and got home a deep cut which completely severed the animal's jugular vein. With a dull thud the enormous brute rolled over on the snow, struggled feebly for a few minutes, and then lay still.
"Stone dead," exclaimed O'Donovan triumphantly. "Faith! We'll not be wanting meat now."
The cub, curious to see what was the matter with its dam, ambled awkwardly towards the dead bear. O'Donovan was about to fell it with a blow from the Russian's axe, which he had picked up, when Leslie interposed.
"Let's save it and keep it for a pet," he said.
The Irishman looked at the lad to see if he were really in earnest, then burst into a hearty laugh.
"A pet, be jabers! Who'll be wanting a cub for a pet when we're like to starve ourselves? How do you think to feed it?"
"We can find some seals," suggested Leslie.
"Perhaps," rejoined O'Donovan. "Perhaps not."
"There's no harm in trying," pleaded Leslie. "If it comes to the worst there's more bear steaks for us."
He appealed to the Russians. The one who had slipped during the encounter grunted indifferently, while his comrade, who had good cause to complain since his left arm was deeply scratched by the bear's claws, nodded his head amiably.