nd, it seemed to the boy
that it might as well be a mile away, for he dared not--no, not dared,
but simply could not--utter a sound.

How long this agony lasted he could not tell, but all the time he felt a
strange combination of sensations, for it was as if his body was turned
to ice, his head was on fire, and hot and cold together he was melting
away.

He could see dimly the bulky dark figure of his visitant, but he judged
that it could see him plainly, for it kept on moving about uneasily, and
twice over changed its position from one rock to the other, bridging
them over, and then sitting up as if listening, before coming down
softly on all fours again, to stretch out its neck and begin sniffing at
him from end to end.

At last, when a horrible feeling of faintness was creeping up from head
to brain, a thrill ran through the boy, for a great paw was stretched
out, touched him on the breast, and he felt the claws catch in the right
side of his jacket as he was lifted up a little with a strange scraping
sound against the rock, and something rolled over on to his chest as he
was lowered down again, and then rolled back against his right-hand.

The shuffling sound began again, and as if to claw him out of the narrow
trench-like place in which he lay, the bear reached out once more,
thrusting its great paw down between him and the rock, and with the
claws right under him began to lift him out.

Chris felt himself rising slowly, and knew that the next thing would be
that he would be seized by the animal's teeth and slowly carried off to
his lair.

But a change had come over the lad in those moments, ever since the
first movement had sent something on to his chest to roll back against
his hand. For that something was the revolver, about whose butt Chris's
fingers closed, and as the bear's shuffling had raised him up there was
a _click, click_ of the lock, a movement of the boy's wrist which
directed the muzzle of the little piece upward, and then in an agony of
desperation his right finger pressed the trigger and there was a sharp
echoing report, followed by a furious yell and crash which was followed
by a call for help, and the voice of Wilton.

"Who fired that shot?" he shouted.

"I did," gasped Chris, who had scrambled to his feet, trembling in every
limb.

"Who called for help?" shouted Griggs.

"I! Help!" came again.

"That you, Bourne?" said the doctor.

"Yes," came in a choking voice as of some one