d with a yell, as I had done before under different circumstances,
would he not rush at me savagely, as all wild creatures do when
cornered? No, the time for that had passed with the first instant of our
meeting. The bluff would now be too apparent; it must be done without
hesitation, or not at all. On the other hand, if I turned back he would
follow me to the end of the ledge, growing bolder as he came on; and
beyond that it was dangerous walking, where he had all the advantage and
all the knowledge of his ground. Besides, it was late, and I wanted a
salmon for my supper.

I have wondered since how much of this hesitation he understood; and how
he came to the conclusion, which he certainly reached, that I meant him
no harm, but only wanted to get on and was not disposed to give him the
path. All the while I looked at him steadily, until his eyes began to
lose their intentness. My hand slipped back and gripped the handle of my
hunting knife. Some slight confidence came with the feel of the heavy
weapon; though I would certainly have gone over the cliff and taken my
chances in the current, rather than have closed with him, with all his
enormous strength, in that narrow place. Suddenly his eyes wavered from
mine; he swung his head to look down and up; and I knew instantly that I
had won the first move--and the path also, if I could keep my nerve.

I advanced a step or two very quietly, still looking at him steadily.
There was a suggestion of white teeth under his wrinkled chops; but he
turned his head to look back over the way he had come, and presently he
disappeared. It was only for a moment; then his nose and eyes were poked
cautiously by the corner of rock. He was peeking to see if I were still
there. When the nose vanished again I stole forward to the turn and
found him just ahead, looking down the cliff to see if there were any
other way below.

He was uneasy now; a low, whining growl came floating up the path. Then
I sat down on a rock, squarely in his way, and for the first time some
faint suggestion of the humor of the situation gave me a bit of
consolation. I began to talk to him, not humorously, but as if he were a
Scotchman and open only to argument. "You're in a fix, Mooween, a
terrible fix," I kept saying softly; "but if you had only stayed at home
till twilight, as a bear ought to do, we should be happy now, both of
us. You have put me in a fix, too, you see; and now you've just got to
get me out of it. I