Lashing his tail more furiously than before, the tiger sprang. Now he was within thirty feet of the bear, now twenty, now ten. It seemed that the next spring would bring him to his goal.
But here he paused. The mother was between him and his dinner. He circled. The bear circled clumsily. The cub was always behind her. The tiger stood still. The bear moved slowly backward, still pushing her cub. Again the tiger sprang. This time he was but eight feet distant. He growled. The bear hissed. The crisis had come.
With a sudden whirl to one side, the cat sprang with claws drawn and paws extended. It was clear that he had hoped to outflank the bear. In this he failed. A great forepaw of the bear swung over the tiger’s head, making the air sing.
She nipped at the yellow fur with her ivory teeth. Here, too, she was too late; the tiger had leaped away.
The tiger turned. There were flecks of white at the corners of his mouth. His tail whipped furiously. With a wild snarl, he threw himself at the mother bear’s throat. It was a desperate chance, but for a second it seemed that those terrible fangs would find their place; and, once they were set there, once the knife-like claws tore at the vitals of the bear, all would be over. Then he would have a feast of good young bear.
At the very instant when all this seemed accomplished, when Jarvis breathed hoarsely, “Ah!” and Dave panted, “Oh!”, there came a sound as of a five-hundred-pound pile-driver descending upon a bale of hay.
Like a giant plaything seized by a cyclone, the tiger whirled to the right twelve feet away, then rolled limply over and over.
“Ee! She packs a wallop!” breathed Jarvis.
“Is he dead?” said Dave.
The bear moved close to the limp form of her enemy and sniffed the air.