Down came the guide’s rifle with tremendous force, and the anxious spectator held his breath in suspense while he awaited the result of the stroke. He fully expected to see the bear tumbled over with a broken head, for it did not seem possible that anything in the shape of a skull could withstand a blow like that. It was simply terrific. The stock of the rifle, broken short off at the grip, flew ten feet away in one direction, while the barrel, slipping from the hunter’s hand, went whirling through the air in another. The blow checked the bear for perhaps ten seconds, just long enough to give Big Thompson time enough to gather himself for a jump. He made half a dozen of them—wonderful jumps they were, too—directing his course toward the hill on which Oscar stood, with the intention of seizing one of the overhanging branches and swinging himself out of the reach of his enraged enemy; but he had not calculated on the depth of the snow, and the first thing he knew he was floundering in a drift that was waist deep. [Illustration: OSCAR SAVES BIG THOMPSON’S LIFE.] He was wedged in so tightly that he could scarcely move, while the bear’s superior strength and weight enabled him to work his way through it without the least difficulty. The fierce animal closed in rapidly upon the now helpless hunter, and Oscar’s first impulse was to take to his heels, in order that he might not see that which would surely follow when the bear came up with him. But instead of acting upon it he did something else—something that excited Big Thompson’s unqualified admiration, and caused Oscar himself the most unbounded astonishment whenever he thought of it afterward. He drew his gun to his shoulder, and the solid rock beside which he stood was not steadier than the muzzle of that weapon. Taking a quick aim at the butt of the bear’s ear, near the place where the spine joins the base of the skull, he pressed the trigger, and the enraged animal fell as if he had been struck by lightning. So did Oscar, who, as soon as he saw the result of his shot, sunk down beside the rock, at the same time letting go his hold upon his gun, which slid, muzzle foremost, down the hill, and buried itself almost out of sight in the snow. For a moment or two after that Oscar must have been unconscious. He did not see the guide move; but when he looked toward him again Big Thompson had worked his way out of the drift; and, having picked up the barrel of his rifle, was searching for the stock. Seeing Oscar sitting at the foot of the rock, he called out to him in a cheery voice: “Wal, perfessor, if ye haint done it fur Ole Ephraim this time I’m an Injun. What be ye sittin’ up thar fur? Come down an’ take a look at him.” The boy tried to obey. With great difficulty he arose to an upright position; but his legs refusing to support him, he rolled helplessly down the hill and landed in a snow-drift, from which he was extricated by Big Thompson, who placed him firmly upon his feet.