"Faith, the cap'n's been in a hurry," observed Patrick Gass, as the boats turned in.
And so he evidently had. He was still out of breath.
"We've killed a large white bear," he panted. "Some of you men come and help Drouillard bring him down."
"Good work, Merne," called Captain Clark. And enough men tumbled ashore to carry half a dozen bears.
Cruzatte ran, Peter ran, the Fields brothers ran; all ran. Back a few hundred yards they found Drouillard working with his knife on the carcass of a bear.
"No! Let's fetch him down entire, for the whole crowd to see," cried Reuben Fields. "He's a sock-*dologer. Look at him, Joe!"
"He not so ver' beeg—but he beeg plenty," averred Cruzatte.
"Who shot him, Drouillard?"
"De cap'n an' me, both," answered Drouillard. "Dere was two. De one we woun', he get away. Dis odder we woun', an' my gracious, he chase de cap'n. He chase him seventy, eighty yard, but he bad hurt, could no run quite so fas' as de cap'n. De cap'n load hees gun while he run, an' shoot again—bang! Bear no fall. I come, aim queeck—bang! Dis time bear fall. But my gracious, he ver' tough to keel."
They dragged the huge carcass to the shore. It
