"But what's to be done, what's to be done?" inquired Mr. Dudley, testily. "We can't stay here all day, Ranquist, like ripe apples, waiting to be shaken down by this beast. Something must be done; I insist on it. I'll--I'll--What did you boys want to lead us into a bear's den for?" he asked, turning toward Roger and Adrian. "We didn't know there were bears about," answered Adrian, a little crestfallen at the mishap. "There hasn't been any bears near Cardiff before in ten years." "Stuff and nonsense! Stuff and nonsense!" interrupted Mr. Dudley shortly. "I believe you boys did this for a joke. If you did--" "Oh, pshaw!" came from Mr. Ranquist, "of course it isn't the boys' fault. How could they help it?" "Well, perhaps they couldn't," admitted Mr. Dudley, "but it's very unpleasant, to say the least." Then the bear began another attack on the tree where Mr. Dudley was, with such savage energy that it needed all the engineer's strength to prevent himself from being shaken down. "Oh! Oh!" cried Mr. Dudley, desperately. "Something will have to be done at once. Help! Help!" he yelled. "Haven't either of you men a revolver?" called Roger. "By Jove! I never thought of it!" said Mr. Ranquist, suddenly. "Of course I have. But I'm not a very good shot, and, if I was, I'm afraid the small bullets in my gun wouldn't cause his bearship much annoyance. It's only a .22 calibre," he added. Carefully balancing himself, the young engineer drew the weapon from his pocket. His movement seemed to interest bruin, who left his position under Mr. Dudley's tree, and ambled over to the sapling where Mr. Ranquist was perched, much to the relief of the older prospector. "I'm going to shoot," said Mr. Ranquist. "I don't know what will happen after it, so look out, every one." Taking as good aim as he could, Mr. Ranquist fired at the brute. There was no evidence that the bullet hit, so he blazed away again. This was another miss, but the third attempt was more effective, for, with an angry roar, the animal dropped on all fours, and began clawing his snout with his left paw. A few spots of blood showed on the ground. "You hit him! You hit him!" exclaimed Mr. Dudley, and, in his delight, he tried to caper about on his slender perch, with the result that he nearly tumbled off. "Oh, yes, I hit him," admitted Mr. Ranquist, showing just a little pride in the achievement. "I winged him, but I'll have to do better than that, if I want to persuade him to go away. These bullets are only flea-bites to him." The little leaden pellet did not seem to cause the bear much suffering, but the pain angered him, and, with savage growls, he made fierce efforts to get at the man he apparently knew had fired the shot. In rapid succession Mr. Ranquist pulled the trigger four times more, but none of these balls touched a vital spot, though two of them struck the beast in the head. He was now wild with rage. Mr. Ranquist began to reload his revolver.