n to the haft in
the bear's side.

Just then an unwonted swimming sensation came over Ian; his great
strength seemed suddenly to dissipate, and the bear, the claw collar,
even Elsie, faded utterly from his mind.

The stars were shining brightly in the calm sky, and twinkling with
pleasant tranquillity down upon his upturned countenance when
consciousness returned to Ian Macdonald.

"Ah, Vic!" he murmured, with a long sad sigh; "I've had such a splendid
dream!"

"Come, that's right, old boy. Here, have another mouthful," said
Victor, holding a tin can to his friend's lips. "It's only tea, hot and
strong--the best thing in the world to refresh a wounded man; and after
such a fight--"

"What!" exclaimed Ian, starting and sitting bolt upright, while he gazed
in the faces of his two comrades. "Is it true? _Have_ I killed the--
the--grizzly?"

"Killed him!" exclaimed Victor, rising; "I should think you have."

"Killed 'im!" echoed Rollin. "You's killed 'im two or tree time over;
vy, you's axed 'im, stabbed 'im, shotted 'im, busted 'im, squashed 'im--
ho!--"

"Am I much damaged?" inquired Ian, interrupting, for he felt weak.

"Oh! no--noting whatsocomever. Only few leetil holes in you's legs. Be
bedder in a veek."

"Look here," said Victor, kneeling beside the wounded man and presenting
to him a piece of wood on which were neatly arranged a row of formidable
claws. "I knew you would like to see them."

"How good of you, Vic! It was thoughtful of you, and kind. Put them
down before me--a little nearer--there,--so."

Ian gazed in speechless admiration. It was not that he was vain of the
achievement; he was too sensible and unselfish for that; but it was
_such_ a pleasure to think of being able, after all, and in spite of his
bad shooting, to present Elsie with a set of claws that were greatly
superior to those given to her mother by Louis Lambert--the finest, in
short, that he had ever seen.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A CUNNING DEVICE ENDS IN FAILURE FOLLOWED BY DESTRUCTION.

In a previous chapter it has been told how the long hard winter of that
year, (1826), had passed away, after an unwontedly severe tussle with
the spring. The prophets of the land now began to hold up their heads
and look owlishly wise, for their predictions were evidently about to be
fulfilled.

Had not old Sam Ravenshaw said all through the winter that "something
would come of it"? Was it not the daily remark of Angus Macdon