Unless something occurred to assist him, it began to look very much as though he might trip after growing dizzy, and the big yellow brute pounce upon him.
Then a sudden thought came into his mind. It was like an inspiration, and made Jerry laugh right out. Why, of course his gun, what was he gripping it all this time so desperately for if not because he believed it worth while.
He tried to remember whether he had fired one shot or two after reloading it. So confused had he become with all this turning round and round that he could not be absolutely sure. But there was nothing for him to do but take chances.
He felt to see if one of the hammers might be up, and found the left one drawn back. That seemed promising, for if he had fired both barrels the hammers must naturally be down.
It might be only imagination, but he believed he could actually feel the hot breath of the pursuing beast on his legs as he twisted around that tree so awkwardly. With a prayer in his heart, though his lips were mute, he suddenly whirled, thrust out the gun, and pulled the trigger.
Fortune was certainly with him that day. The dog viciously seized hold of the gun barrel in his teeth; and it was just at this instant that Jerry pressed the trigger.
He saw the big beast swirl half-way around. Then he fell in a quivering heap.
"Hurrah!"
It was but a pitiful shout poor Jerry gave, for he was quite out of breath. He, too, fell down in a heap close to the yellow form of his enemy; but instinctively his hands worked, trying to place his faithful gun in readiness for further work.
It was not needed.