ly to keep from
running over Dick, and Dick had trouble to keep from punching the
bear in the ribs with his rifle when he fired at it.

No one was hurt on this first round and the bear thought it had
escaped and so did the boy. Dick churned a cartridge from the
magazine to the barrel of his rifle and watched closely the
undergrowth through which the bear was running, hoping for another
shot. Just as the splashing in the marsh grew indistinct and Dick
realized that his last chance had gone, he got one glimpse of the
bear as it sprang upon a log that lay across its path. Dick threw
his rifle to his shoulder with the quick motion of the sportsman who
takes a woodcock on the wing, and fired. The bear, which was distant
more than a hundred yards, disappeared and it seemed to the boy
scarcely worth while to follow it. It was only the notion to look
for the mark of his bullet on some tree near the log that induced
him to wallow through the swamp to where he had last seen the bear.
To his amazement he found a piece of bone and some fresh blood on
the log. He had no thought now of abandoning the trail. He followed
it through swamp and jungle, sometimes losing it where the ground
was hard or where it crossed the path of an alligator. Often when he
became fearful that he had lost the trail a smear of blood on root
or leaf told him that he was on the track. From former hunts and the
study of Ned's maps, he knew the general lay of the land, but he
stopped often and noted his course, for he meant to follow that
trail and camp on it if necessary until he lost it finally or found
the bear. The animal seemed to know all the bad stretches of marsh
and thorny bits of jungle and, as the hours passed and night drew
near, without his getting a sight of his quarry, he consoled himself
with the thought of what Mr. Streeter had told him:

"A man is never lost in the swamp so long as he knows where he is
himself."

Dick knew he wouldn't starve. There were always birds to be shot,
alligators which he could kill with a club, and palmetto cabbage
which he could dig out with his knife. He had his matches in a
watertight box, a little bag of salt in his pocket, the swamp water
was fresh, and what more could a hunter-boy ask for? He felt so
cheerful that he began to whistle, which brought him bad luck, for
he stumbled over a root which caught both feet and threw him
head-down into a deep pool of mud. He was half strangled before he
got out and wa