A frightful report followed. The whole cavern seemed to shake. Flakes of stone and dirt fell from the roof and walls. The boys were dazed and deafened by the sound. The candle was extinguished, and by the time Jerry struck a match and relit it, the powder smoke had lifted.
The bear lay motionless on his back. Sparwick was crawling toward the lads on hands and knees. He stopped, and sat up against the wall of the cavern. His face was deathly pale, and a wheezy, gasping sound came from his lips.
Jerry first satisfied himself that the bear was dead. Then he turned to his former enemy.
“Are you hurt badly?” he asked.
“I reckon not,” replied Sparwick, with a painful effort. “I was purty well squeezed, but I’m gettin’ my breath back now. The critter hit me a lick here, but it ain’t no account.”
He pointed to his left shoulder, from which the coat and shirt had been partially torn away.
“I gave you up for dead,” said Jerry. “It was a close shave.”
“Close ain’t no word for it,” declared Sparwick. “You saved my life, young feller, an’ I ain’t the man to furget it. Words ain’t much in my line, or I might say I was sorry for certain things. Howsomever, here’s what I took from that pardner of your’n.”
He produced the watch and pocketbook, and handed them to the boys.
“Yes; they’re Brick’s,” said Jerry. “But didn’t you see anything of him yourself? He started after you this morning with two men. Hamp and I followed a couple of hours later. Somehow or other we lost their tracks, and got onto yours.”