than once his neck was caught, but he slipped the noose as though it
were all play. Again he was caught by a foot and wrenched, almost
thrown, by the weight of two strong steeds, and now he foamed in rage.
Memories of olden days, or more likely the habit of olden days, came
on him--days when he learned to strike the yelping pack that dodged
his blows. He was far from the burnt thicket, but a single bush was
near, and setting his broad back to that, he waited for the circling
foe. Nearer and nearer they urged the frightened steeds, and Monarch
watched--waited, as of old, for the dogs, till they were almost
touching each other, then he sprang like an avalanche of rock. What
can elude a Grizzly's dash? The earth shivered as he launched himself,
and trembled when he struck. Three men, three horses, in each other's
way. The dust was thick; they only knew he struck--struck--struck! The
horses never rose.

"Santa Maria!" came a cry of death, and hovering riders dashed to draw
the Bear away. Three horses dead, one man dead, one nearly so, and
only one escaped.

"Crack! crack! crack!" went the pistols now as the Bear went rocking
his huge form in rapid charge for the friendly hills; and the four
riders, urged by Kellyan, followed fast. They passed him, wheeled,
faced him. The pistols had wounded him in many places.

"Don't shoot--don't shoot, but tire him out," the hunter urged.

"Tire him out? Look at Carlos and Manuel back there. How many minutes
will it be before the rest are down with them?" So the infuriating
pistols popped till all their shots were gone, and Monarch foamed with
slobbering jaws of rage.