somewhere curled up and nursing his sore snout.
Now that the excitement was past the boy began to be sensible of his
fatigue. Nature was asserting herself and he must eat and sleep.

Just at dawn he noted a clear space among large trees on a knoll a
little way from the brook, which now had grown to a considerable
creek. He reconnoitred and, finding no trace of an enemy, built a
fire. While broiling a piece of the venison it occurred to him that he
should husband what was left of the meat as it might be a long time
before he could find venison, killed and dressed by Indians, awaiting
him along the route. Accordingly, after eating a hearty breakfast, he
cut crotched sticks and drove them into the ground on either side of
the fire and placed green poles across, over the fire. By hanging the
meat on these he planned to smoke and dry what remained, after cutting
it into strips. Rodney seemed to forget about both Indians and the
bear and was whistling softly as he worked when a noise behind him
caused him to turn.

Not over fifteen feet away was the bear! He smelled the cooking meat
and evidently was in an ugly mood. Scarcely thinking what he did, the
boy, snatching a brand from the fire, threw it full in the face of the
brute and sprang for his rifle. The firebrand only seemed to infuriate
the animal and he charged. Hastily Rodney fired.

A growl of rage and pain followed the report, and through the clearing
smoke the boy saw the bear biting at the wound in his side. Round and
round bruin whirled until he caught a glimpse of his assailant, when
he rushed forward. As in a haze the boy saw the huge bulk almost upon
him, the little fiery eyes gleaming like coals of fire, the open jaws
flecked with bloody froth. The boy clubbed his rifle with no thought
of running. The bear rose on his hind legs. One blow from his powerful
paw, and all would be over. Rodney struck, shattering the stock of the
gun, and sprang aside. He now was helpless!

The bear, full of fight, struck, his claws ripping the boy's sleeve.
Crack! A well-aimed shot from behind brought bruin down with scarcely
a struggle and the huge bulk lay stretched at Rodney's feet.

A child's scream of delight followed the shot. A white boy of about
ten years, accompanied by an Indian, came out of the thick woods, the
little fellow crying, "He's mine. I want him, Caughnega."

To this pleading the Indian paid no heed. Confronting Rodney he
demanded, with a sweep of his arm