him, there would not be the faintest chance of escape. The only
thing therefore that could be done was to run.

There were not wanting men who were fleeter of foot than Carson,
but few could have overtaken him when he made for the trees on which
all his hopes depended. Like the blockade runner, closely pursued
by the man of war, he threw overboard all the cargo that could
impede his speed. His long, heavy rifle was flung aside, and the
short legs of the trapper doubled under him with amazing quickness
as he strove as never before to reach the grove.

Fortunately the latter was not far off, and, though the fierce
beasts gained rapidly upon him, Carson arrived among the timber a
few steps in advance. He had no time even to select the tree, else
he would have chosen a different one, but making a flying leap,
he grasped the lowermost limb and swung upward, at the moment the
foremost grizzly was beneath him. So close in truth was his pursuer
that the hunter distinctly felt the sweeping blow of his paw aimed
at the leg which whisked beyond his reach just in the nick of time.

But the danger was not over by any means. The enthusiastic style
in which the bears entered into the proceedings proved they did
not mean that any trifles should stop them. They were able to climb
the tree which supported Carson, and he did not lose sight of the
fact. Whipping out his hunting knife, he hurriedly cut off a short
thick branch and trimmed it into a shape that would have made a
most excellent shillelagh for a native of the Green Isle.

He had hardly done so, when the heads of the bruins were thrust
upward almost against his feet. Carson grasped the club with both