BATISTE, THE BEAR HUNTER 155 



tiste!&quot; and the man who had risen plunged into the 

 crashing cane-brake, calling out incoherently for them 

 to &quot;help help Ba tiste!&quot; 



In the confusion of cries and darkness, it was im 

 possible for the other two trappers to know what had 

 happened. Their first thought was of the Indians 

 whose crimes they had been telling. Their second 

 was for their rifles and they had both sprung over 

 the fire where they saw the third man striking strik 

 ing striking wildly at something in the dark. A low 

 worrying growl and they descried the Frenchman 

 rolling over and over, clutched by or clutching a huge 

 furry form hitting plunging with his knife strug 

 gling screaming with agony. 



&quot;It s Ba tiste! It s a bear!&quot; 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: 

 &quot; 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 com 

 rade from the ground. 



The bear had had him on his back between her 

 teeth by the thick chest piece of his double-breasted 

 buck-skin. 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. 



&quot; Mon dieu! &quot; he asked thickly, fumbling with both 



