from the carnivore. Tippet attempted to scramble to his feet.

"Lie still!" shouted Bradley. "Can't waste ammunition."

The bear halted in its tracks, wheeled toward Bradley and then

back again toward Tippet. Again the former's rifle spit angrily,

and the bear turned again in his direction. Bradley shouted

loudly. "Come on, you behemoth of Holy Writ!" he cried. "Come on,

you duffer! Can't waste ammunition." And as he saw the bear

apparently upon the verge of deciding to charge him, he

encouraged the idea by backing rapidly away, knowing that an

angry beast will more often charge one who moves than one who

lies still.

And the bear did charge. Like a bolt of lightning he flashed

down upon the Englishman. "Now run!" Bradley called to Tippet

and himself turned in flight toward a nearby tree. The other

men, now safely ensconced upon various branches, watched the race

with breathless interest. Would Bradley make it? It seemed

scarce possible. And if he didn't! James gasped at the thought.

Six feet at the shoulder stood the frightful mountain of

blood-mad flesh and bone and sinew that was bearing down with the

speed of an express train upon the seemingly slow-moving man.

It all happened in a few seconds; but they were seconds that

seemed like hours to the men who watched. They saw Tippet leap

to his feet at Bradley's shouted warning. They saw him run,

stooping to recover his rifle as he passed the spot where it

had fallen. They saw him glance back toward Bradley, and then they

saw him stop short of the tree that might have given him safety

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