232 THE FUR TRADE OF AMERICA 



they descried the Frenchman rolling over and over, clutched by 

 or clutching a huge furry form — hitting — plunging with his 

 knife — struggling — screaming with agony. 



"It's Ba'tiste ! It's a bear!" shouted the third man, who was 

 attempting to drive the brute off by raining blows on its head. 



Man and bear were an indistinguishable struggling mass. 

 Should they shoot in the half-dark ? Then the Frenchman uttered 

 the scream of one in death-throes: "Shoot! — shoot! — shoot 

 quick ! She's striking my face ! — she's striking my face " 



And before the words had died, sharp flashes of light cleft the 

 dark — the great beast rolled over with a coughing growl, and the 

 trappers raised their comrade from the ground. 



The bear had had him on his back between her teeth by the 

 thick chest piece of his double-breasted buckskin. Except for his 

 face, he seemed uninjured ; but down that face the great brute had 

 drawn the claws of her fore paw. 



Ba'tiste raised his hands to his face. 



"Mon Dieu!" he asked thickly, fumbling with both hands, 

 "what is done to my eyes ? Is the fire out ? I cannot see !" 



Then the man who had fought like a demon armed with only a 

 hunting-knife fainted because of what his hands felt. 



Traitors there are among trappers as among all other classes, 

 men like those who deserted Glass on the Missouri, and Scott on 

 the Platte, and how many others whose treachery will never be 

 known. 



But Ba'tiste's comrades stayed with him on the banks of the 

 river that flows into the Missouri. One cared for the blind man. 

 The other two foraged for game. When the wounded hunter 

 could be moved, they put him in a canoe and hurried downstream to 

 the fur post before the freezing of the rivers. At the fur post, the 

 doctor did what he could ; but a doctor cannot restore what has 

 been torn away. The next spring, Ba'tiste was put on a pack horse 



