may have had bad-luck that morning. At all events, he was out
after game, and was in a bad temper. He hated all dogs, naturally, and
he had seen One-eye. He hated men, as well, but his first rush was after
the scared quadruped. That was an excellent thing for Two Arrows. He was
the best runner of his age in his band, and never before had he done
quite so well, but he stuck to his weapons. His bag of provisions had
been hidden among the old houses, and he was glad of it as he bounded
away across the grass. Every jump counted, for One-eye was doing the
right thing. He was not following his master too closely, he was only
thinking of getting away from that bear. He, too, had been the best
runner of his tribe, when there had been other dogs to run with him, and
he certainly was now. He ran well, but so did the bear, for a good horse
does not too easily overtake a grisly, and a man on foot can never do it
if the bear does his best.

It was an exciting race, but Two Arrows knew it must have an end some
time. He longed for a tree, and to be away up in the top of it, but
there were none near enough to be of any use. He kept an eye on the
other racers, and it was not many minutes before he saw that One-eye was
doing almost too well. He was getting away so fast that the grisly gave
him up and turned to his other chance for a breakfast. It was as if he
had said to himself,

"Dogs are no good. They run too well. A nice, tender, well-fed Indian
boy, now, and I'll get him in a moment."

Two Arrows had gained a pretty good start, and it led him towards the
canon. He tried to calculate the distance, and how long it would take
him to get there, but his next thought was that he had never heard of a
grisly that could gallop and rush like this one.

"It'll all be over with me. I'd fight him, but he's too much for me. Got
to die now."

It was an awful moment, and all the courage in him did not make it any
less so. The claws and jaws and hug of a mountain grisly are a terrible
prospect to set before anybody's ambition.

Just then another prospect and a ray of hope dawned upon him. Away to
the right he saw a solitary bowlder of gray granite, with a round top,
nearly thirty feet above the grass.

"If it isn't too smooth to climb," flashed through the mind of Two
Arrows, as he turned and ran for it. He was running now for his life,
and the bear was rapidly gaining on him, but it told well for his valor
that he did not drop lance or bow