“We’ll manage it this way,” replied Jack, after a moment’s hesitation. “You shall take the smaller of the two gullies to-morrow, Percy, and whether you have time to go over it all or not, you shall come back here about the middle of the afternoon and go down to the lower end of the valley and get us a deer; there are always deer to be seen down there, and you ought to be able to get one before night.”
“Very well,” responded Percy. “I’ll do so. We must have meat for the journey.”
“Yes. Three days’ supply, at least. It will probably take us that length of time to get to Bozeman.”
According to this arrangement the pair set off at daylight next morning, while I remained on guard in the sentry-box. The day passed uneventfully, as usual, until about half-past four in the afternoon, when Percy looked in upon me on his way down the valley, and having handed me one sample of rock to grind, walked off again, his rifle over his shoulder.
A quarter of a hour later, perhaps, I heard a shot. Ulysses, who was lying stretched out beside me, cocked up one ear, but otherwise took no notice. The next moment, however, to my great astonishment, he sprang up, leaped out of the fort, and ran, helter-skelter, out of the gully.
I dropped my grinding-stone, seized my rifle, and sprang to the loophole. There was nothing to be seen there. What, then, was the matter with Ulysses? He must have heard something that I had not; something to alarm him, too, or he would not have thus deserted his post,—for the old dog, I believe, knew just as well as I did that he was on guard.
I jumped down from the shelf and ran to the mouth of the gully, where I stood still to listen. I could hear nothing; but, fearing that Percy might be in need of help, I ventured to run on until I had passed through the fringe of trees which interrupted my view of the valley-bottom.
There, the first thing I saw was our herd of animals. They were close to the camp, each one standing with his head held high and his ears pointed forward, snorting and gazing down the valley. I looked in the same direction, and, instantly, I, too, forgot that I was on guard. I, too, deserted my post, and raced off down the valley.
About half a mile away, and on the far side of the stream, was Percy, running, as never mortal boy ran before I should think, in my direction. Close behind him, in full chase, was a bear—an immense beast. It looked to me to be about the size of a full-grown steer, though not so tall. Between Percy and me—but a good deal nearer to him than to me—was Ulysses, going like a mad creature to the rescue.
I had not cleared half the distance between us when the conditions of the chase were suddenly altered. The bear had come so close to Percy that the fugitive, fearing to be caught the next moment, doubled like a hare and ran back again towards the trees. The ponderous pursuer, unable to check himself so quickly, ran on for several yards, but then, doubling also, he was about to resume the chase in this new direction when Ulysses, leaping the creek, and rushing up the opposite slope, darted in like a flash and seized him by the hind leg. The enraged beast whirled about and made a slap at Ulysses that would have torn the dog in two had it taken effect. But our old friend was cunning as well as brave. He let go and jumped away; and then the two stood, their noses about six feet apart, eying each other like two gladiators; the bear growling and showing all his formidable teeth, and Ulysses going “G-rrr, g-rrr, n-yam, n-yam, n-yam,” as a dog does when he sees through the parlour window another dog come into the front yard and scratch up the grass as if it belonged to him.