Teddy gazed intently toward a clump of sage brush just off the trail. Absently he bent his left knee, and with his hand he dislodged a piece of dirt that had caught on the heel of his shoe. This he tossed into the bush carelessly. There was a sudden deep-throated growl. The bushes stirred, then parted. Framed in a circlet of brown sage brush, appeared the shaggy head of a huge black bear. Neither boy spoke. Silently Roy leveled his rifle. The bear stood as immobile as a statue, staring fiercely at the intruders, only his head showing. Then, as the lips drew back in a snarl, showing the sharp teeth and the red gums, Roy pressed the trigger. There was a sharp crack. The bear started as though it had been stung by a hornet, and a crimson spot of blood marked the black fur just above the left eye. “Take it on the run!” Teddy cried hoarsely, and fired as he spoke. He knew the buckshot would have small effect, but he hoped it might cause the animal to hesitate long enough to give them an opportunity to make their escape. As the bear moved forward Roy sprang to one side. With a yell to Teddy to follow, he bounded to the right, then up, toward a ledge that jutted out from the mountain over their heads. If they could gain that, and the bear could not, they had a good chance for their lives. Teddy leaped after his brother. The bear, growling in rage at the pain of his wound, sought to close his teeth in Teddy’s leg. The boy gave a shout, and releasing his hold on the gun gave all his attention to the business at hand--beating the bear to the ledge. Strangely enough, as he scrambled up the incline, Teddy’s thoughts reverted to the ranch yard, when only yesterday he and Roy had sat on the corral fence and snickered as Pop Burns told about the time a bear had tried to make a meal from Nick Looker’s pants, while Nick was in swimming at Lomley’s Lake. According to Pop, the bear had struck a fishhook in the back pocket, and out of revenge had chased Nick all over creation. “Now I know just how Nick felt,” Teddy panted. “Never--as long as I live--will I laugh at another bear story! Hey, Roy! Hang on to your gun! Mine’s gone!” But even as he spoke, he heard a thud and saw their only remaining firearm go sliding down the mountain. It hit in the path of the oncoming beast, and the animal stopped for a moment to see what this was that tumbled toward him. As the rifle reached him, he put out his paw, stopped the gun, sniffed at it, then flicked it from him with a snort, and once more lumbered on. But at least the rifle had served one good purpose--for in that small interval of time Roy had reached the ledge. He jumped upward, careless of consequences, and felt his finger close over the root of a tree. Straining every muscle, he gradually drew himself up--higher--higher--and, with a gasp of thankfulness, he sank down upon the rock.