For a moment the hunters stood in the edge of the clearing, gazing in speechless astonishment at the sight before them.
Close to one of the largest of the dead pines was a large black bear, reared back on his haunches and striking with both paws viciously at some unseen foe. The hair of muzzle, head and paws was matted and plastered with some thick liquid, giving him a curious frowsy appearance. He was evidently in a towering rage but it was also apparent that he was suffering great pain, his ferocious growls being interspersed with long, low, pathetic whines.
"He acts as though he had gone crazy," exclaimed Walter, recovering his speech.
At sound of his voice, the bear's head turned in their direction. With a growl of fury he dropped to all fours and with incredible speed made for the hunters.
Charley had been quick to take in the meaning of the strange scene.
"Shoot and run," he shouted, as the maddened animal charged.
He, Walter and the captain shot almost at once. The shots struck home but the sorely wounded beast still lumbered forward at a rapid pace.
"Run," shouted Charley, striking into the forest at the top of his speed, closely followed by the captain and Walter. They had run but a few paces before Walter, who was in the rear, stopped suddenly. "Chris has stayed," he shouted to the others, "we can't leave him."
Almost as rapidly as they had fled, the three retraced their steps to the edge of the clearing.
"Stay where we are and watch," commanded Charley, with a grim smile. "The bear's too badly hurt to be dangerous. Watch him, fellows, just watch."