One glance back gave Jeanne the answer. “Run! Run!” She uttered the words before she thought them.
Instantly they sprang into wild flight.
Bears are swift runners. This mother was no exception. Had someone been standing upon a rock overlooking the scene, he might have discovered that the bear, almost at a bound, had shortened the distance between herself and the fleeing ones by half. He would have opened his eyes in sheer terror as he saw her, mouth open, tongue lolling out, white teeth gleaming, gaining yard by yard until it seemed her breath would burn the sturdy gypsy woman’s cheek.
Jeanne led the procession. Danby Force came next. Madame, unaccustomed to running, lagged behind.
Danby heard the beast’s hoarse panting. What was to happen? He had no weapon. Yes, one, if it might be called that—a six-foot stick. This stick was very hard and stout, sharpened at one end. He had used it as an Alpine staff. As Jeanne reached the plane he threw the gypsy child into her hands; then swinging about, he sprang to Madame’s assistance. He was not a moment too soon. The irate beast was all but upon her.
At sight of this one who dared to turn and face her, the bear paused, reared herself upon her haunches and, for a space of ten seconds, stood there, glaring, snarling, frothing at the mouth.
The respite was brief. It was enough to permit Jeanne to drag her foster mother into the plane.
Danby’s thought as he turned to face the bear had been that he might set the stick at such an angle as to bring it into contact with the bear’s ribs as she charged. He had heard of hunters practicing this trick. In the end his courage failed him. Seeing his chance he dropped the stick, sprang for the plane, fell through the opening then slammed the door after him.
“Safe!” he breathed thickly. “But is the battle over? Perhaps it has but begun. She—she could wreck this plane.”
“Oh my poor Dragon Fly!” Jeanne groaned. The great beast hurled herself against the stout door with such a shock as set the whole ship to quivering.