Sure enough, a couple Of hundred yards away a big black bear was
lumbering right down towards them, and if it kept its course would
pass a large boulder standing some fifty yards back from the river
bank. The animal had not seen the boat nor scented the men, for the
wind was blowing from it towards them.

"Run her in here," said Bob, indicating a bit of bank out of the
bear's range of vision, "an' let me ashore t' have a chance at un."

The instant the boat touched land he grabbed his gun--a
single-barrelled, muzzle loader--bounded noiselessly ashore, and
stooping low gained the shelter of the boulder unobserved.

The unsuspecting bear came leisurely on, bent, no doubt, upon securing
a drink of water to wash down a feast of blueberries of which it had
just partaken, and seemingly occupied by the pleasant reveries that
follow a good meal and go with a full stomach. Bob could hear it
coming now, and raised his gun ready to give it the load the moment it
passed the rock. Then, suddenly, he remembered that he had loaded the
gun that morning with shot, when hunting a flock of partridges, and
had failed to reload with ball. To kill a bear with a partridge load
of shot was out of the question, and to wound the bear at close
quarters was dangerous, for a wounded bear with its enemy within reach
is pretty sure to retaliate.

Just at the instant this thought flashed through Bob's mind the big
black side of the bear appeared not ten feet from the muzzle of his
gun, and before the lad realized it he had pulled the trigger.