Just then an unwonted swimming sensation came over Ian; his great strength seemed suddenly to dissipate, and the bear, the claw collar, even Elsie, faded utterly from his mind.
The stars were shining brightly in the calm sky, and twinkling with pleasant tranquillity down upon his upturned countenance when consciousness returned to Ian Macdonald.
“Ah, Vic!” he murmured, with a long sad sigh; “I’ve had such a splendid dream!”
“Come, that’s right, old boy. Here, have another mouthful,” said Victor, holding a tin can to his friend’s lips. “It’s only tea, hot and strong—the best thing in the world to refresh a wounded man; and after such a fight—”
“What!” exclaimed Ian, starting and sitting bolt upright, while he gazed in the faces of his two comrades. “Is it true? Have I killed the—the—grizzly?”
“Killed him!” exclaimed Victor, rising; “I should think you have.”
“Killed ’im!” echoed Rollin. “You’s killed ’im two or tree time over; vy, you’s axed ’im, stabbed ’im, shotted ’im, busted ’im, squashed ’im—ho!—”
“Am I much damaged?” inquired Ian, interrupting, for he felt weak.
“Oh! no—noting whatsocomever. Only few leetil holes in you’s legs. Be bedder in a veek.”
“Look here,” said Victor, kneeling beside the wounded man and presenting to him a piece of wood on which were neatly arranged a row of formidable claws. “I knew you would like to see them.”