George and Victor Shelton held their breath at times when viewing this remarkable combat. They knew that if the bear once seized the Shawanoe he would not live a minute. Repeatedly it looked as if the youth had been caught. Once when the huge fore leg showed outside the shoulder of Deerfoot and seemingly against it, and his head almost touched the snout of the bear, both lads uttered a wail of agony, and George, from his place at the top of the gorge, called to his brother below: “Poor Deerfoot! He is gone!” “So he is!” chuckled Victor; “gone from the claws of the grizzly.” Just then Mul-tal-la hurried forward to the side of George Shelton. The youth suspected the truth. The Blackfoot, although ordinarily a brave man, had no wish for a close acquaintance with so overwhelming a specimen of “Old Ephraim,” as he is now often called. He knew too well the tremendous prowess of the monarch of the western solitudes. But Mul-tal-la could not stay in the back ground when his friend was in danger. Standing beside George Shelton, it took but a glance for him to understand the situation. Deerfoot was engaged in a hand-to-hand fight with the most formidable grizzly bear upon which the Blackfoot had ever looked or of which he had ever heard. A minute told the Blackfoot further that the youth was certain to win, for, while he was continually thrusting and wounding his antagonist, who must soon succumb, the latter had not harmed a hair of the other’s head. To such a struggle there could be but one issue, provided no accident intervened. But a mishap is always possible in the case of the bravest and most skilful combatant. Deerfoot might slip at a critical moment and be caught. Amazing as was his prowess, he was not infallible, and death was likely to seize him at any moment. The action of the Blackfoot, therefore, was to be commended, when he knelt on one knee and aimed with the utmost care at the brute. While he and the youth were interlocked there was danger of injuring Deerfoot. Mul-tal-la, therefore, waited until a brief space separated the two and just before the Shawanoe made another bound forward. Mul-tal-la held his aim for several minutes, for he was resolved not to make any mistake. He aimed just behind the ear, and when he pressed the trigger the little sphere of lead bored its way into a vital part, and then it was all over. Deerfoot had struck again and leaped back when he heard the report of the rifle, saw the outreaching paws droop, the snout dip, and the mountainous mass sag downwards and sideways, tumble over, and that was the end. “Mul-tal-la only hastened the death of the bear”, remarked the Blackfoot when he and the boys clambered down into the ravine and stood beside the victor; “my brother had done the work, and the bear could not have lasted much longer.” “Perhaps my brother is right,” replied the Shawanoe. Then he looked sternly at the lads and added: