A remarkable
"crack! crack! crack!" from the fire was heard now, and the cartridges
began to go off in ones, twos, fours, and numbers unknown. Gringo
whirled about; he had smashed everything in view. He did not like that
Fourth of July sound, so, springing to a bank, he went bumping and
heaving down to the meadow and had just stampeded the horses when, for
the first time, Gringo exposed himself to the hunter's aim. His flank
was grazed by another leaden stinger, and Gringo, wheeling, went off
into the woods.
The hunters were badly defeated. It was fully a week before they had
repaired all the damage done by their shaggy visitor and were once
more at Fallen Leaf Lake with a new store of ammunition and
provisions, their tent repaired, and their camp outfit complete. They
said little about their vow to kill that Bear. Both took for granted
that it was a fight to the finish. They never said, "_If_ we get him,"
but, "_When_ we get him."
XI. THE FORD
Gringo, savage, but still discreet, scaled the long mountain-side when
he left the ruined camp, and afar on the southern slope he sought a
quiet bed in a manzanita thicket, there to lie down and nurse his
wounds and ease his head so sorely aching with the jar of his
shattered tooth. There he lay for a day and a night, sometimes in
great pain, and at no time inclined to stir. But, driven forth by
hunger on the second day, he quit his couch and, making for the
nearest ridge, he followed that and searched the wind with his nose.
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