f the running bear. Down the
beast went in a sliding sprawl with a muffled roar of rage. Up he
sprang, dangling a useless leg, yet leaping swiftly forward. One blow
sent the attacking dog aside. Jack fired again. The bear became a
wrestling, fiery demon, death-stricken, but full of savage fury. Jack
aimed low and shot again.

Slowly now the grizzly reared, his frosted coat blood-flecked, his great
head swaying. Another shot. There was one wide sweep of the huge paw,
and then the bear sank forward, drooping slowly, and stretched all his
length as if to rest.

Mescal, recalled to life, staggered backward. Between her and the
outstretched paw was the distance of one short stride.

Jack, bounding up, made sure the bear was dead before he looked at
Mescal. She was faint. Wolf whined about her. Piute came running from
the cedars. Her eyes were still fixed in a look of fear.

"I couldn't run--I couldn't move," she said, shuddering. A blush drove
the white from her cheeks as she raised her face to Jack. "He'd soon
have reached me."

Piute added his encomium: "Damn--heap big bear-- Jack kill um--big
chief!"

Hare laughed away his own fear and turned their attention to the
stampeded sheep. It was dark before they got the flock together again,
and they never knew whether they had found them all. Supper-time was
unusually quiet that night. Piute was jovial, but no one appeared
willing to talk save the peon, and he could only grimace. The reaction
of feeling following Mescal's escape had robbed Jack of strength of
voice; he could scarcely whisper. Mescal spoke no word; her black lashes
hid her eyes; she was silent, but there was that in her silence which
was eloquent. Wolf, always indifferent save to Mescal, reacted to the
subtle change, and as if to make amends laid his head on Jack's knees.
The quiet hour round the camp-fire passed, and sleep claimed them.
Another day dawned, awakening them fresh, faithful to their duties,
regardless of what had gone before.

So the days slipped by. June came, with more leisure for the shepherds,
better grazing for the sheep, heavier dews, lighter frosts, snow-squalls
half rain, and bursting blossoms on the prickly thorns, wild-primrose
patches in every shady spot, and bluebells lifting wan azure faces to
the sun.

The last snow-storm of June threatened all one morning; hung menacing
over the yellow crags, in dull lead clouds waiting for the wind. Then
like ships heaving anchor to a sin