Rod knew something about the captain's rifle, as on several occasions
he had been shown how it worked, and once, which was a red-letter day
to him, he had been allowed to fire it off. It was quite fortunate
that the boy had this slight knowledge, which now served him in good
stead. Rod saw the bear rise on its hind legs, and he knew from
stories he had read that this was the ordinary method of attack. He
could not afford to lose a moment, he was well aware, if the captain
was to be saved.

Creeping close to where the bear was standing, he drew back the hammer,
took steady aim at the brute's body, and pulled the trigger. At once
there was a loud report, and Rod was sent reeling backward as if hit on
the shoulder by a huge rock. For an instant he imagined that the bear
had struck him with its paw, but a shout from the captain caused him to
scramble to his feet. Then his eyes rested upon the black form of the
bear lying upon the ground but a short distance away.

"Is it dead?" he asked, hurrying over to where the captain was standing.

"Dead! Doesn't he look like it?" was the reply, as the old man laid a
heavy hand affectionately upon the boy's shoulder. "That was a great
shot, lad, and jist in the nick of time. My! I was sure he was goin'
to have me fer dinner. That would have been a slower and more painful
death fer the brute, ha, ha!"




CHAPTER XXIII