Sandy focused his bleary eyes across the ravine. The Kodiak was just a big mound of motionless fur sprawled out on the ground.
“Come on!” Jerry pulled at Sandy’s arm. “Let’s hurry over there so we can make like big-game hunters when those other guys show up.” Using his rifle as a staff, he started down the slope into the ravine.
Sandy caught up to him at the bottom and grabbed the rifle away from him. “Don’t ever do anything like that again!” he snapped. “You dope! You might have blown your head off—or at least your hand. This is a loaded gun. You’ve got to have respect for it. Never point it at yourself or anyone else.”
Jerry flushed and dropped his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. It was a dopey thing to do. I’m so crazy excited I forgot.”
“Okay.” Sandy handed the rifle back to him and they crashed through the brush and brambles that grew among the trunks of the birches. Scrambling up the far slope, Sandy was aware of a heavy weight banging against his right hip. He slipped his hand into his pocket on that side and touched the cold metal grip of the Colt automatic. He had forgotten about it when he packed the heavy parka away after the sled race.
He had just withdrawn his hand from his pocket when Jerry, who was in the lead, reached the top of the ravine. As his eyes cleared the rim, he stopped short and let out a wild yell. Then the bear lumbered into full view, looming over Jerry like a cat over a very small mouse. The monster’s red-rimmed eyes blazed with hatred and Sandy could see pink foam gleaming on the long, bared fangs. It came to him as an incredible shock that here they were face to face with the most dangerous living thing in all the world—a wounded, pain-crazed Kodiak bear.
“Jerry! The gun! Shoot!” Sandy spat the words out jerkily.
Obeying mechanically, Jerry swung the long barrel up and fired in the same motion. The slug plowed harmlessly between the bear’s legs, kicking up dirt and gravel. But it turned out to be a lifesaving shot. Caught off balance, Jerry was kicked off his feet by the booming recoil and went tumbling head over heels down the steep grade. At the same time Sandy drew out the big .45 pistol and cocked it. Then, as the bear dropped to all fours, with the obvious intention of attacking, Sandy fired at its hairy throat. The Army Colt .45-caliber packs a tremendous wallop. At such close range, it knocked the giant Kodiak back on its haunches.
Sandy pumped the last bullet into the bear’s midsection, then turned and ran down the slope. Jerry was just getting to his feet when he reached the bottom of the ravine. “Find a tall tree and climb it,” Sandy yelled. “Come on!”
Together they stumbled into the woods. Sandy remembered that on their way over they had passed one gnarled birch with a trunk as big around as a man’s waist. In the manner of so many trees of this species, it had branched out into three thick, sturdy limbs at a height of about four feet. Without breaking his stride, Sandy leaped up, planted one foot in the crotch and clawed and shinnied his way up through the branches. He kept climbing until the limb began to bend beneath his weight. Then, with his heart fluttering like a frightened bird, he looked down, half expecting to see his friend in the embrace of the great bear. There was no trace of either Jerry or the Kodiak.