"If you'll promise to keep cool, and watch for your chance to make the bullet tell. We haven't so many of them along with us that we can afford to waste even a single one." [Illustration: "HIS TREMBLING FINGER SUDDENLY PRESSED THE TRIGGER"] "I give that promise willingly," said the other, as he stretched out his hand for the gun. Having it in his possession, Roger's first move was to lower himself a little. He meant to further excite the beast, and cause him to remain upright until the gun, being brought to bear on his head, within a foot or so of the small, gleaming eyes, could be fired with full effect. "Careful not to go too far, Roger; he is waiting to make another try for you!" warned the watchful Dick. So the young marksman paused, and, settling himself firmly in a crotch of the tree, bent forward. The gun was held at an acute angle, and the tiny sight near the terminus of the long, shining barrel could be seen against the dark fur of the bear. When the beast opened his mouth to give utterance to another roar, Roger knew his time had come. His trembling finger suddenly pressed the trigger, there was a loud report, a still louder roar, and then a scuffling sound. "He's down!" yelled Roger, in anticipated triumph. "Give me the gun, so that I may reload it!" the other boy called, meanwhile observing the significant actions of the grizzly with mingled curiosity and satisfaction. The animal had fallen over, and seemed to be struggling desperately to get up again on all fours. But that last leaden missile must have reached a vital part, for, as the seconds passed, these efforts became more and more feeble until, just as Dick primed his weapon again, there was a last spasmodic movement. Then the huge animal remained motionless. Roger sprang down from his perch, in his usual reckless fashion; but there was no longer any danger, for the bear was dead. The boy placed his right foot on the huge bulk, and waved his hat in triumph; for, after all is said and done, he was but a lad, and this marked the highest point in his career as a hunter of big game. "They'll never believe it, Dick," he exclaimed, "unless we carry back something to prove our story. And that means we've got to slice off these claws to show. After this we can have necklaces made of them, and the Indians will look on us as mighty hunters." "Just as you say, Roger, and, if you start with that one, I'll attend to the other fore paw. They are enough to give you a cold shiver. How our mothers would turn pale if they saw them, and knew what a narrow escape we had." "Yes, but our fathers would pat us on the back, Dick, and say that we were 'chips of the old block,' because they many times took their lives in their hands the same way, when founding their homes on the frontier, and know what it is to face the perils of the hunting trail."