"Wow—I—I——"
But a sharp report drowned the rest of his sentence.
Dave Brandon had succeeded in crossing the natural bridge just as the dripping bear clambered out on the opposite side. He sank to one knee, and fired.
The grizzly rose on its hind legs, its mouth opened, showing an array of formidable teeth; then, with a last defiant snarl, Old Ephraim fell heavily over, gave several convulsive movements and finally lay limp and lifeless.
"Hurrah!" yelled Bob Somers.
He stood on the bank, with his wet clothes clinging tightly to him and his hair matted fantastically to his forehead.
"Bully boy!" yelled Havens, who had scrambled ashore; "and I had an idea you couldn't shoot."
"Oh, no, he can't. Dave is the champion nimrod of the crowd," laughed Dick Travers. "Christopher—some excitement, eh?" Then he burst out laughing. "You're not hurt, are you, Havens?" he asked. "Honest, you were the funniest thing I ever saw when you went in."
"The whole thing was a comedy of errors," smiled Bob.
"It's lucky I didn't fall on a rock," said Havens, with a very faint grin. "That old fish-eating monster caused us a peck of trouble. And my rifle—we'll have to dig that up," he added, ruefully. "Somers, you and I are pretty sights."