The Indian hastily launched another arrow, without any better effect, and then threw down his bow and seized the rifle which lay on the ground near by his camp fire. By this time the grizzly was not more than twenty yards away. Red Cloud fired one shot, which wounded the beast, but only served to further enrage it without doing any mortal injury. Then the man turned on his heel and fled to the nearest tree, hoping to dodge the beast around its trunk and find a chance of getting in a death shot. But the grizzly was already at his heels, and, as he sprinted to the tree, he could feel the hot breath of the angry bear upon his back. He gained the shelter only a yard or two ahead of his enemy, and the bear, carried on by the momentum of his speed, went about ten yards beyond the trunk, giving the Indian a second or two in which to catch his breath and bring his gun to his shoulder. The animal turned with incredible swiftness and charged again. But Red Cloud had dodged to the other side of the trunk, and met him with a bullet squarely in the breast. Before he could fire another shot with his repeater, the grizzly was upon him, rearing upon its haunches. The beast presented a terrible sight, that might well have inspired terror even in the heart of a brave man like the young Indian hunter. It was covered with blood from head to foot from its wounds. Its mouth was wide open, exposing its long, cruel teeth and a terrible snarl; and its forepaws, with their frightful claws extended, were raised to tear the man to fragments. Before Red Cloud could press the trigger again the rifle was dashed from his hands by a terrific blow of one of the bear’s paws. Next moment he was clasped in the beast’s merciless hug and borne to the ground. He abandoned all hope of life, but, with the game instinct of a well-trained Indian, he managed to draw his hunting knife and deal the beast several deep wounds in its side. Roaring with pain, the grizzly released him for a moment, just as a shot rang out from behind a near-by tree. Hit through the head, the animal turned, with a vicious snarl, to meet its new enemy. It took a few rapid bounds in the direction from which the shot had come, and then rolled over on its side--stone-dead. It had struggled for life and revenge with desperate tenacity, but a bullet through the brain had settled it at last. Buffalo Bill, with a smoking rifle in his hand, stepped out from behind a tree and walked toward the prostrate Indian, glancing at the body of the bear as he passed it, to make sure that it was really dead. As he approached, the young Indian lifted himself slowly and painfully upon his elbow, and said: “Brother, I thank you.” Then, as he tried to rise to his feet, he was overcome by the loss of blood from the many wounds inflicted upon him by the claws of the bear, and he sank back unconscious.