where he had sought refuge. He had figured on grabbing one of the guns
and shinning up to the friendly crotch, there to despatch his foe at
leisure. But as he rose with the rifle in his hand he saw that there was
no time for this.

Dropping on one knee he took careful aim, and as the grizzly rose on its
hind legs to grasp him, fired point blank at the spot just below the fore
leg that marked the heart. Then he jumped aside.

The bear spun around once, toppled and fell with a tremendous crash on
the spot where Bert had been a moment before.

Once more Bert raised his rifle, looking narrowly for any sign of life.
But the last bullet had done the work. A convulsive shudder ran through
the bear's enormous length. Then he stiffened out and a glaze crept over
the wicked eyes. He had fought his last fight.

And as Bert looked down at him, his relief and exultation were tempered
by a feeling of respect for the brute's courage. Never for a moment had
he shown the white feather. He had fought gallantly and gone down
fighting.

Tom and Dick, who had now rejoined him, shared his feeling.

"Nothing 'yellow' about that old rascal but his hide," commented Dick.

"A fighter from Fightersville," added Tom.

When their jubilation had somewhat subsided, they measured their quarry.