Jim waved his hand impatiently.
"The worst animal in the mountains to tackle," he said, earnestly. "Better do what I say. Quick! The old brute's coming this way."
The crackling of twigs and crashing among the underbrush indicated that the bear was steadily advancing.
The hunters' nerves began to tingle at the prospect of meeting such a formidable antagonist, but a certain pride prevented them from adopting the wisest course.
Old Ephraim evidently felt that everything was not as it should be, and seemed determined to be fully satisfied before returning to his fishing.
While the four stood irresolute, the underbrush parted, and a broad head with a rather pointed snout came into view. A pair of small eyes gazed inquiringly around, and their owner, taking in the young nimrods, uttered a low growl. He seemed to be indignant at the invasion of his domain. Such a proceeding must be discouraged.
With a roar, he lumbered forward, and the Ramblers, feeling that closer acquaintanceship was not to be desired, scattered.
All but Jim Havens were startled and disconcerted at the size of the animal, and began to regret that they were not viewing the scene nicely perched on some branch out of reach of his terrible claws.
In the meantime, the grizzly singled out Bob Somers for immediate vengeance. The captain felt that it was too late to follow Havens' advice. He steadied his nerves and awaited a favorable moment.
"Shoot straight!" yelled Havens.