Fred Linden, like his companion, aimed directly between the eyes of the strange beast, and, like him, he struck the mark; but both shots only served to awake the irrestrainable ferocity of the animal, which, with another rasping howl and parted jaws, bounded toward them. Since both weapons were discharged, and they had no other firearms, the boys were almost helpless, and it may be said their enemy was upon them.

"Run!" called out Fred, wheeling about and leaping toward a tree, behind which he took refuge; but sturdy Terry had no thought of turning away from such a foe. Throwing one foot back so as to steady himself, he seized his fine rifle with both hands, near to the muzzle, and held it so as to use it as a club or shillaleh.

The brute was so close that he had no more than time to gather his strength, and swing the heavy stock with might and main, when the animal bounded at him straight from the ground.

There was a "dull thud," as it may be called, and the stock crashed against the side of the beast's head, knocking him a couple of yards to the left, and almost at the feet of Fred Linden; but in point of fact the blow did no harm except to thwart the creature for a second or two.

He was now snarling, and gave utterance to one or two peculiar barking sounds like a dog or wolf. His eyes were ablaze, and there could be no doubt that his fury was at white heat. Crouching for an instant, he made a bound for Terry, before he had time to balance himself to deliver his second blow with the same power as the first.

Fred Linden could not stand still and see his companion torn to shreds in that fashion. He leaped from behind the tree, with his gun also clubbed, and hastened to strike with all his might; but he was too late.

It was a curious fact, not understood at the moment, that the savage creature, although he leaped straight at Terry, passed fully two feet over his head, and that, too, when the lad was standing erect, and braced to deliver his second blow.

Striking on his belly, several paces beyond, the beast rolled over and over, clawing, snapping, snarling, and beating the air, with lightning-like blows. The leaves and dust flew in all directions, and the foam which he spat from his jaws was flecked with blood.

He continued rolling and struggling until he was a rod distant, and then suddenly stopped, stone dead.

In the excitement and swirl of the moment both Fred and Terry were conscious that their guns were not the only ones that were fired. At the instant the brute was in the act of rising from the ground a second time for his leap, the sharp report of another rifle was heard. The peril was so imminent that the lads could give no attention just then to any thing but the immediate business in hand; but now, seeing their fearful foe was dead, they knew that it was the third bullet that had done it, and they glanced around to see who their friend was.

No one was in sight, and they advanced to the carcass, which they were somewhat timid about touching, even though convinced that it was beyond the power of doing any more harm. They saw that both of their bullets had struck the skull, though not at the precise points at which they aimed. One had passed near the right eye of the nondescript, and must have inflicted serious injury, but its toughness would have enabled it to keep up the fight, and to have slain both of the boys before they could have reloaded and fired a second time.

A little search showed where the fatal wound had been given. Just in front of the fore leg the lead had entered and gone through the heart. No animal, so far as known, amounts to any thing after his heart has been torn in twain, though he may live and move for a time.

"I tell you, Terry, that I don't believe there is another beast in the country that, after receiving two bullets in the head, like that, could make such a fight."

"I begs to corrict ye," said the other; "it was three shots, for do ye not mind that I bored a hole through him when we first made his acquaintance?"

"So you claimed, but you haven't explained how it was that such a shot could be made without leaving any wound?"

"It may have healed up since then," suggested the Irish lad, who knew as well as his companion that the first bullet did not touch the beast.

"I hadn't thought of that," meekly observed Fred; "but there is one thing certain, that if that last shot hadn't been fired, it would have been the last of us: where could it have come from?" he asked, looking around and finding the answer to his question in the sight of Deerfoot the Shawanoe, who came from behind a clump of bushes on the other side of the small stream.

Fred uttered an exclamation of delight when he recognized the graceful young warrior, who was holding the stock of his gun in his left hand, with the barrel resting idly in the hollow of his right arm. Fred jumped across the brook, with hand extended to greet him.

"I'd rather see you than any person in the world," was the truthful exclamation of the youth: "when you gave me the letter yesterday I thought what a splendid trip this would be if Terry would go with me, and behold, he has come! I would have liked to have you too but I didn't dare say so, for I didn't think it was possible: but ever since we started I have felt that we only lacked you to make the party complete. Now, ain't I glad to see you, and how are you, old fellow?"

The lad in his boisterous way wrung the hand of Deerfoot and slapped him on the shoulder; then laughed, and shook hands again with an enthusiasm that left no doubt of the cordiality of his welcome.

As for Deerfoot, he showed a gentle dignity that was never absent. His faint smile lit up his handsome face, and he was pleased with the pleasure of the others.

"Deerfoot has seen the faces of his brothers not many times, but it brings sunshine to his heart to meet them again."

Then his countenance was crossed by an expression of gravity like an eclipse passing over the face of the sun.

"Is my brother ill, that he suffers so much?"

This question referred to Terry Clark, Deerfoot looking over the shoulder of Fred at the Irish lad behind him. Fred heard a curious noise, and turned to learn what it meant. His friend had leaned his gun against the nearest tree, so as to give his limbs free play, and was flinging his arms aloft, and dancing a jig with a vigor that made it look as if his legs were shot out, and back and forth, by some high pressure engine. Now and then he flung his cap aloft, and, as it came down, ducked his head under and dexterously caught it. His mouth was puckered up most of the time, while he whistled with might and main, though the energy of his general movements shut out all resemblance to a tune. Occasionally he stopped whistling and broke into snatches of song which, from the same cause, could not be identified.

Fred Linden laughed. He was demonstrative, but not so much so as Terry. Looking sideways at Deerfoot, he saw his eyes sparkling and the corners of his mouth twitching. Rarely had he been amused as much as he now was by the extravagant manifestations of the Irish lad, for whom he had formed a strong regard.

Deerfoot and Fred having turned their glances toward Terry, the latter appeared to catch sight of them for the first time. With a whoop he flung his hat higher than ever in the air, caught it with right side up on his crown as it came down, and then shouted:

"How are yees, me friends?" and made a dash for them.

In his enthusiasm he forgot the brook running through a small hollow between them. His feet went down in the depression without any knowledge on his part, and he sprawled headlong, his cap rolling at the feet of Deerfoot, who pushed the toe of his moccasin under the edge, and flung it to him as he rose to his feet.

"It's all the same, and a part of the show," laughed Terry, "as the wife of the bear-keeper obsarved when the bear ate him up, and it's how are ye, and how do ye ixpect to be, and what have ye to say for yersilf, and why are ye so long answerin' me quistion?"

Deerfoot simply smiled, and made no reply until Terry had replaced his cap, and was done with his noisy greeting. Then he pointed to his gun leaning against the tree, and said:

"When my brother is in the woods, he should keep his gun within reach of his arm."

"Yer moral sentiments are corrict," remarked Terry, hurrying back—this time without falling—to regain his piece. When he once more stood beside the laughing Fred, the Shawanoe addressed both:

"Are the guns of my brothers loaded?"

Both felt the rebuke; they had violated one of the elementary rules of the hunter's life, which is that the first thing to be done after discharging a weapon is to reload it. Fred flushed, for he did not remember that he had ever forgotten it before.

"It was a piece of forgetfulness of which Terry and I ought to be ashamed, but it was the first time we had ever had a fight with such a beast as that: what do you call it, Deerfoot?"

The Shawanoe shook his head to signify that he knew of no distinct name for the animal, but he explained to the boys, what they already knew, that it was a cross of some kind, concentrating in itself, as it seemed, all the power, activity, daring and ferocity of the most dreaded animals of the woods. Deerfoot could not deny that his shot had saved the boys from being torn to shreds by the brute. Had it been a few seconds later, or differently aimed, nothing could have saved them from its fury.