Now another! Up reared the bear, roaring and clawing, and the floe swerved in toward the channel’s edge. Peter in his haste to pluck a second arrow, string it and launch it, slipped and fell sideways――and on the instant the floe had touched the channel edge, where the channel narrowed; roaring, the bear had sprung ashore, and roaring he was coming, the arrow feathers dripping red and his tongue dripping red, and crimsoned froth slathering his open jaws. The bristles on his back were full six inches high.
All this Peter saw in a twinkling. He had time only to launch his arrow. But he took good aim, there on his knees; whang-thud!――his second arrow landed near the first; and away he ran. From the bank at the fort men, both white and red, were running, too; running to help him. They waved their arms and weapons, shouted loudly.
Peter changed his course. They should _not_ help him. He would show Pat, and the captains, and everybody, what he could do. He glanced over his shoulder. The bear was close. A bear could easily outrun a boy, or a man, and for a short distance, a horse. Aside leaped Peter, digging in his moccasined heels, for foothold in the soft spots; another arrow was on the bowstring; with scratching of claws and furious growl the bear slid past. But Peter had turned in a flash, and while turning had drawn his bow. Whang-thud! The arrow sank almost out of sight in the bear’s ribs, forward where the heart should be.
The blow had knocked the bear down. He went sliding, in a struggling heap. Now he roared indeed, and twisting his head bit at the arrow. Up he rose, sighted Peter, and on he came. Peter lost a moccasin, his foot slipped. He stood his ground, held his breath, and took very careful, cool aim――bending his bow till it quivered in his grasp. A moment more, and the bear would rear, to strike him――and he loosed the taut string. The arrow struck the bear right in the nape of the burly neck; his head was low, bear fashion, and Peter had taken the chance. Down sprawled the bear, as if smitten by lightning, for the arrow point had cut his spine. He shivered, and was still. The four feathered ends jutted from his hide. He was a dead bear.
“Glory be!” panted Sergeant Pat, arriving. “An’ ye did it all by yourself! But, sure, I thought I see ye ’aten up entoirely.”