“Ugh! Stop sticking matches up my nose,” exclaimed Ted, sitting up. Then, as he recognized his surroundings, he asked: “Did I get him?”
“You sure did, and he’s a monster,” returned the agent.
“He was just reaching for our bacon when I caught sight of him. I’d got our rifles and was starting back when I heard a branch crack right beside me, and there was Mister Bear, standing on his hind legs, clawing at the bacon.
“I was so frightened, I just stood and shook. Then I let out a yell for you fellows. The bear must have heard it, for he turned his head, then rushed for me and I fired. But he kept on coming and I kept firing. The last I remember, he seemed right on top of me. I’m sorry I fainted.”
“Never mind. There are not many men who would have been able to shoot at all, seeing a bear so close and for the first time,” returned the agent.
“Let’s take a look at him,” suggested Phil, when his brother was on his feet again. And quickly they reached the carcass.
While the young homesteaders pulled the long fur and examined the terrible claws, Andy was searching to find where the bullets had hit.
“That was some shooting, Ted,” he finally announced; “five shots and every one in the head.”
“Beats hitting a tin can, what?” said Phil.
“It certainly does, especially in the night, when it is always harder to hit a mark because things look bigger.”