being suffocated.

"Oh, it's father!" shrieked Ned, and he rushed in the direction of the
sound, just as there was a snarling, worrying sound and the breaking of
wood as if a heavy body was rushing among the trees.

"Ah!" came in Bourne's voice, loudly. "No, my boy, not hurt, but I
thought I was gone."

The speaker was the centre of a little group now, two of whom struck
matches, and Wilton produced a lanthorn, which was lit and held up, to
disclose the face of Bourne, covered with blood, and his jacket hanging
down below his waist, literally ripped up.

"Help him to lie down," said the doctor anxiously. "Now, old fellow,
tell me, where are you wounded?"

"Only in my jacket, I hope," was the reply, given cheerfully enough.
"Who shot the brute?"

"I did," said Chris.

"You?" cried Griggs. "Then it was not you, Mr Bourne?"

"I? No! I was woke up by the shot, and coming to see, when I was
knocked down by the brute. It fell on me, pinning me to the ground,
kicking and struggling the while. I thought I should have been
smothered. Is this its blood all over me?"

"Yes, if you are not torn."

"I'm not hurt that I know of. One of its fangs caught me somewhere
about the collar and tore my jacket right down to the waist."

"No, you can't be wounded," said the doctor, "or you wouldn't talk like
that. Here, Chris, you say you fired?"

"Yes, father," said the boy, and he hurriedly related his experience.

"What an escape for you both!" cried the doctor. "The brute must have
been desperately wounded by your pistol-shot, Chris, my boy. You hit
him hard."

"Couldn't very well miss him at that distance, sir," said Griggs dryly.
"The brute's lying somewhere about. Look out, every one, for he'll be
pretty dangerous."

"He must have gone ever so far," cried Ned, "for I heard the trees
breaking for long enough. But are you quite sure you're not hurt,
father?"

"Not a bit, my boy; I only want a wash and another jacket. Ugh! This
blood is horrible. But I say, Wilton, you're a pretty sort of a fellow
to keep guard while we slept!"

"Oh, I was on the lookout for Indians. You didn't say anything about
bears. What was this one--a grizzly, Griggs?"

"Didn't see it, neighbour, but I shouldn't think it was. Black one or
brown one, I should say. Cinnamon, p'r'aps."

"Why not a grizzly?"

"Because he wouldn't have taken a shot in him so quietly. He'd be
rampaging about here ready to tear us all to piece