The bear suddenly lost his fear of the redskin, and the latter lost his desire to take bear paws to his teepee.
The crackling of the flames as they leaped down the wooded side-hills into the valley warned both hunter and hunted that there was no time to lose. The bear burst out of the thicket, the arrow still sticking in his rump, and waddled off for running water at a great pace. The Indian had chased the beast into unfamiliar territory, and now he took advantage of his prey’s instinct. He followed the bear.
Through brush and bramble, over rocky way and swampy land, the bear and the man raced. At times they were almost side by side, and neither paid the least attention to the other. Lighter and swifter creatures passed the two like the wind; the bear and the redskin plugged along doggedly, as though running for a wager.
They were not in the neighborhood of Bendigo Lake, so they did not meet up with either the two scouts or with the Mad Hunter. It was a stream which the bear, back in his little brain, knew would be running full even at this dry season. They reached it barely in time to save themselves from being withered by the flames. The bear’s fur was indeed smoking.
He plunged over the bank into the deep, dark pool. Red Knife went after bruin, landing squarely on the bear’s back, eliciting only the notice of a grunt from the beast as he sank to the bottom of the pool and let the flames roar overhead.
The redskin stayed below the surface as long as he could, too. He could feel the bear beside him all the time. He might have flung himself upon the beast with his knife and killed him. It were better had he done so.
But at the time Red Knife was too perturbed to think of killing his companion in misery. When the redskin came up to breathe, the fiery brands showered upon him so thickly that he was glad to sink again. It was some time before it was safe for him to squat, with his head out of water.
And there were the redskin and the bear, both on their haunches, with their noses stuck out of the pool like two bullfrogs. As the heat grew less intense and the brands stopped falling, the bear and the man began eying each other with less favor. Each recovered from his panic and began to remember that they were deadly enemies.
The bear growled and shifted his position to a distance from the red; the latter got out his knife—the only weapon he had saved—and in moments when he was not dodging flying fire planned what he would do should bruin take it into his head to attack.
This deep pool in the brook was no proper arena for a bear-fight—especially when the human antagonist had simply a knife. Red Knife thought some of sinking to the bottom of the pool again and making the attack himself by trying to drive his blade into some vulnerable part of the beast.