I must have broken all records for jumps. All at once I
stumbled just as Cubby made a spurt and flew forward, alighting face
downward. I dug up the pine--needles with my outstretched hands, I scraped
with my face and ploughed with my nose, I ate the dust; and when I brought
up with a jolt against a log a more furious boy than Ken Ward it would be
bard to imagine. Leaping up, I strove with every ounce of might to hold in
the bear. But though fury lent me new strength, he kept the advantage.
Presently I saw the bottom of the canyon, an open glade, and an old
log-cabin. I looked back to see if the hunter was coming. He was not in
sight, but I fancied I heard him. Then Cubby, putting on extra steam, took
the remaining rods of the slope in another spurt. I had to race, then fly,
and at last lost my footing and plunged down into a thicket.
There farther progress stopped for both of us. Cubby had gone down on one
side of a sapling and I on the other, with the result that we were brought
up short. I crashed through some low bushes and bumped squarely into the
cub. Whether it was his frantic effort to escape, or just excitement, or
deliberate intention to beat me into a jelly I had no means to tell. The
fact was he began to dig at me and paw me and maul me. Never had I been so
angry.
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