lower tusk entered the left eye socket, and an upper canine tooth sunk
into the skull. McKiernan fell face downward, his arms under his face,
and the bear slid over the edge and rolled down the almost vertical
wall into the canyon, having dislodged himself by the effort to seize
the man.

McKiernan did not lose consciousness, but he was unable to move. He
knew his left eye was gone, and he feared that he was bleeding to
death. He heard the bear rolling down the slope, heard the crash of
bushes as he struck the bottom, and knew because of his bawling that
the Grizzly was mortally hurt. Then he wondered why his partner did
not come to him, and sense of pain and fear of death were submerged
under a wave of indignation at the man's cowardice and flight.
Presently he heard faintly a voice calling him across the canyon, but
could not distinguish the words, and after a time he realized that his
partner had fled back to the cabin, and was shouting to him. He could
not answer, nor could he raise his head, but he managed to free one arm
and wave it feebly. The partner finally saw the movement and plucked
up enough courage to come back, and with his help McKiernan somehow got
to the cabin.

A young doctor from San Jose attempted to patch up the broken skull
after removing a large piece and leaving the envelope of the brain
exposed. He had read something about trephining and inserting silver
plates, and he hammered out a silver dollar and set it like a piece of
mosaic into McKiernan's forehead, where it resisted the efforts of
nature to repair damages and caused McKiernan a thousand times more
agony than he had suffered from the Grizzly's tusks. Only the
marvelous vitality of the man saved him from the consequences of such
surgery. For days and weeks he sat in his cabin dripping his life away