This thought gave him courage now. He suddenly remembered the broken
bayonet upon the ledge against the wall. If he could reach it there
might be a chance--chance to strike one blow for life. As his eye
glanced towards the wall he saw the steel flash in the light of the
candle.

The bear was between him and it. He made a feint towards the left, then
as quickly to the right. But doing so, he slipped and fell. The candle
dropped to the floor and went out. With a lightning-like instinct of
self-preservation he swung over upon his face just as the bear, in its
wild rush, passed over his head. He remembered afterwards the odour of
the hot, rank body, and the sprawling huge feet and claws. Scrambling to
his feet swiftly, he ran to the wall. Fortune was with him. His hand
almost instantly clutched the broken bayonet. He whipped out his
handkerchief, tore the scarf from his neck, and wound them around his
hand, that the broken bayonet should not tear the flesh as he fought for
his life; then, seizing it, he stood waiting for the bear to come on.
His body was bent forwards, his eyes straining into the dark, his hot
face dripping, dripping sweat, his breath coming hard and laboured from
his throat.

For a minute there was absolute silence, save for the breathing of the
man and the savage panting of the beast. Presently he felt exactly where
the bear was, and listened intently. He knew that it was now but a
question of minutes, perhaps seconds. Suddenly it occurred to him that
if he could but climb upon the ledge where the bayonet had been, there
might be safety. Yet again, in getting up, the bear might seize him, and
there would be an end to all immediately. It was worth trying, however.