“Yes, he certainly threw me.”
“What happened?”
“We heard the hound and we rode along the timber. Then we saw the bear—a monster—white—coated—”
“I know. It's a grizzly. He killed the colt—your pet. Hurry now. What about Bo?”
“Pedro was fighting the bear. Bo said he'd be killed. She rode right up here. My horse followed. I couldn't have stopped him. But we lost Bo. Right there the bear came out. He roared. My horse threw me and ran off. Pedro's barking saved me—my life, I think. Oh! that was awful! Then the bear went up—there.... And you came.”
“Bo's followin' the hound!” ejaculated Dale. And, lifting his hands to his mouth, he sent out a stentorian yell that rolled up the slope, rang against the cliffs, pealed and broke and died away. Then he waited, listening. From far up the slope came a faint, wild cry, high-pitched and sweet, to create strange echoes, floating away to die in the ravines.
“She's after him!” declared Dale, grimly.
“Bo's got your rifle,” said Helen. “Oh, we must hurry.”
“You go back,” ordered Dale, wheeling his horse.
“No!” Helen felt that word leave her lips with the force of a bullet.