. He turned into his sleeping-bag again,
having first taken the precaution to put his rifle within easy reach.
Yet try as he would he could not sleep. His eyes stared, broad awake, at
the shadowy dome of the tent. He wished it was day.

As he lay there straining his ears for the cadence of approaching
herd-bells he was conscious of a muffled sound--a dull, soft footfall,
as if some one was loitering stealthily about the tent. He heard it
again. Then he could distinctly hear a sniffing at the corner of the
tent near which the provisions lay.

Donald's heart leaped to his throat.

He could feel the blood pounding under his ears.

Who was coming so near with that velvety tread?

Noiselessly he wriggled out of his sleeping-bag and stood behind the
flap of the tent, rifle in hand. Then he heard the unmistakable panting
of some heavy creature--some creature so close to him that he could
detect the rhythm of every breath it drew. Shaking in every limb he
stole a look outside. Just beside the opening of his shelter he could
see, clearly defined in the moonlight, a thick, dark shadow outlined on
the grass. It was cast by some beast that was halting near the doorway.

In another second it would be upon him.

The boy caught his breath.

There was no time to think.

Raising his rifle, he fired at the great dark mass. Again he fired!

Had he struck the mark?

Another instant would tell.

The creature would either roll over wounded, or would spring upon him.

He jammed back the trigger of his rifle. The tremor that had swept over
him at first now left his hand. His arm was perfectly steady, his blood
swinging in quick throbs through his body. He fired a third time.

There was a heavy thud, the rolling of a black mass on the ground, a
gasp, a growl! Then all was quiet.

Still Donald dared not take any chances. He poured another round of shot
into his victim. It did not move.

Then cautiously he crept outside, his rifle tight in his grasp.

There on the ground a shaggy object lay motionless.

He went nearer.

Then he gave a shout of astonishment.

It was a bear!

He had shot a bear--he, Donald Clark, alone and unaided, had really shot
a bear! What a story to tell his father; and Sandy, too; and the fellows
at home!

Then, for the first time, he was conscious of a trembling in his arms.
His knees felt strangely weak. Now that the excitement was over he
realized that he wanted to sit down. His rifle slipped fr