g as before under the
lunging body of the foe.

It was at this point the Master hove in sight. He was just in time to
see the flank-bite and to see Lad dance out of reach of the furious
counter. It was an interesting spectacle, there in the gray dawn and in
the primeval forest's depths;--this battle between a gallant dog and a
ragingly angry bear. If the dog had been other than his own loved chum,
the Master might have stood there and watched its outcome. But he was
enough of a woodsman to know there could, in all probability, be but
one end to such a fight.

Lad weighed eighty pounds,--an unusually heavy weight for a collie that
carries no loose fat,--and he was the most compactly powerful dog of
his size the Master had ever seen. Also, when he chose to exert it, Lad
had the swiftness of a wildcat and the battling prowess of a tiger.

Yet all this would scarce carry him to victory, or even to a draw,
against a black bear several times heavier than himself and with the
ability to rend with his claws as well as with his teeth. Once let
Lad's foot slip, in charge or in elusive retreat,--once let him
misjudge time or distance--and he must be crushed to a pulp or ripped
to ribbons.

Wherefore, the Master brought his rifle to his shoulder. His finger
curled about the trigger. But it was no easy thing, by that dim light,
to aim with any accuracy. Nor was there the slightest assurance that
Lad,--dancing in and out and everywhere and nowhere at once,--might not
come in line with the bullet. Thus,--from a tolerable knowledge of
bears and of their comparative mildness in the plump season of the
year,--he shouted at the top of his lungs; and, at the same time, fired
into the air.

The bluff sufficed. Even as Lad jumped back from close quarters and
whirled about, at sound of the voice and the shot,--the bear dropped to
all fours, with ridiculous haste; and shambled off at very creditable
speed into the tangle of undergrowth.

Not so far gone in the battle-lust had Bruin been that he cared to risk
conflict with an armed man. Twice, before, in his somewhat long life,
had he heard at close quarters the snap of a rifle, in the forest
stillness, and the whine of a bullet. Once, such a bullet had found its
mark by scoring a gouge on his scalp; a gouge which gnats and mayflies
and "no-see-'ems" and less cleanly pests had made a torment for him,
for weeks thereafter.

Bruin had a good memory. Just now, he had nothing to defend. He