162 HUNTING SPORTS OF THE WEST. 



very slow work, and the snorting came nearer and 

 nearer. 



I had dropped my rifle, as it very much hindered my 

 retreat, and keeping a sharp look-out in front, where I 

 constantly expected to see the bear, I suddenly disco- 

 vered the glowing eyes, only a few paces off. Just at 

 this moment, my left elbow struck against a projecting 

 bit of rock ; the torch fell out of my hand, and all waa 

 dark as pitch ; for although young Conwell had a second 

 torch, my body filled up the space so completely that 

 not a ray of light could pass. I took up the glimmer- 

 ing splinter, and threw it at the bear, which checked her, 

 but only for a moment. Suddenly young Con well 

 stopped, and said he could not find the passage, and 

 making a slip with his right hand, which held the torch, 

 he dropped it in the water. I could not answer for the 

 bear, who had followed us slowly, as if she knew that we 

 were doing our best to get out of her way ; she must 

 have been so near, that I felt sure that if I stretched 

 out my arm to its full extent, I should touch her, for I 

 could feel her hot breath on my face. With my left 

 arm a little in advance, the right with the hunting-knife 

 drawn back, I awaited, with every stroke of the pulse, 

 the beast's attack, thinking of nothing else than selling 

 my life as dearly as possible ; for I had no hopes of get- 

 ting out alive. 



Meantime, young Conwell had not been idle. Aware 

 that we could do nothing without a light, he had felt for 

 his tinder-box, and the noise of his flint and steel was 

 the only sound that broke a silence like that of the 



