George Shelton ran and tumbled and scrambled over the rough ground for a considerable distance before he glanced behind him. Then he discovered he was not pursued. Panting from his exertions, he halted and began reloading his gun with a haste which made the work doubly as long as it would have lasted on any other occasion. As soon as his weapon was ready he hurried back to the help of his brother, who was having a perilous time indeed. As he ran he called as loud as he could for Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la, for the crisis could not have been more serious. Less than fifty feet separated Victor Shelton from the grizzly when the race for life opened. For a little way the ground was favorable, and the lad ran fully as fast as when fleeing from the wounded antelope. A glance over his shoulder showed the vast hulk doubling and lumbering along and gaining rapidly. In a straightaway race the fugitive was sure to be overtaken within a few minutes. Something must be done without an instant’s delay. There was no time to reload his old-fashioned gun, nor could he descry any refuge. A sapling appeared a little to his right, but he dared not resort to that. He believed the bear would jerk it up by the roots to get at him, and he was probably right in his supposition. So he kept on. The situation was so critical that Victor Shelton did a desperate thing. Throwing away the rifle which impeded his flight, he turned to the left and headed, still on a dead run, for the edge of a cliff. Of the depth of the ravine beyond he had not the faintest idea. It might be a few feet or it might be a hundred. He had no time to find out. Over he must go, and without checking his flight in the least, he dashed to the edge and made the leap. Providentially the distance was barely a score of feet, and instead of alighting upon a rock almost in his line of flight, he landed on the comparatively soft earth. He was severely shaken, but in his fright he heeded it not. He fell forward on his hands and knees, scrambled up instantly, and was off again. He had dropped into a gorge only a few yards in width, which wound indefinitely to the right and left. There was no way of knowing the better line of flight, and he turned to the right. He had gone only a few paces when he looked back to see what had become of the grizzly. He had stopped on the margin of the bluff and was looking down at the terrified youngster, who was striving so frantically to get beyond his reach. For a moment Victor believed the brute was about to follow him; but instead of doing that he lumbered, growling and grunting, along the side of the ravine, easily keeping pace with the fugitive, despite the fact that the surface was more broken than in the bottom of the gorge. Still, so long as the relative positions of the grizzly and fugitive remained the same, no harm could come to the latter. But a change speedily took place.