That dog-smell in particular roused him, though it is very sure he had forgotten all about the dog, and Gringo’s feet went swiftly and silently, yes, with marvelous silence, along the tracks of the enemy.

On rough, rocky ground a dog is scarcely quicker than a Bear, and since the dog was constantly held back by the hunters the Bear had no difficulty in overtaking them.  Only a hundred yards or so behind he continued, partly in curiosity, pursuing the dog that was pursuing him, till a shift of the wind brought the dog a smell-call from the Bear behind.  He wheeled—­of course you never follow trail smell when you can find body smell—­and came galloping back with a different yapping and a bristling in his mane.

“Don’t understand that,” whispered Bonamy.

“It’s B’ar, all right,” was the answer; and the dog, bounding high, went straight toward the foe.

Jack heard him coming, smelt him coming, and at length saw him coming; but it was the smell that roused him—­the full scent of the bully of his youth.  The anger of those days came on him, and cunning enough to make him lurk in ambush:  he backed to one side of the trail where it passed under a root, and, as the little yellow tyrant came, Jack hit him once, hit him as he had done some years before, but now with the power of a grown Grizzly.  No yelp escaped the dog, no second blow was needed.  The hunters searched in silence for half an hour before they found the place and learned the tale from many silent tongues.

“I’ll get even with him,” muttered Bonamy, for he loved that contemptible little yap-cur.

“That’s Pedro’s Gringo, all right.  He’s sure cunning to run his own back track.  But we’ll fix him yet,” and they vowed to kill that Bear or “get done up” themselves.

Without a dog, they must make a new plan of hunting.  They picked out two or three good places for pen-traps, where trees stood in pairs to make the pillars of the den.  Then Kellyan returned to camp for the ax while Bonamy prepared the ground.

As Kellyan came near their open camping-place, he stopped from habit and peeped ahead for a minute.  He was about to go down when a movement caught his eye.  There, on his haunches, sat a Grizzly, looking down on the camp.  The singed brown of his head and neck, and the white spot on each side of his back, left no doubt that Kellyan and Pedro’s Gringo were again face to face.  It was a long shot, but the rifle went up, and as he was about to fire, the Bear suddenly bent his head down, and lifting his hind paw, began to lick at a little cut.  This brought the head and chest nearly in line with Kellyan—­a sure shot; so sure that he fired hastily.  He missed the head and the shoulder, but, strange to say, he hit the Bear in the mouth and in the hind toe, carrying away one of his teeth and the side of one toe.  The Grizzly sprang up with a snort, and came tearing down the hill toward the hunter.  Kellyan climbed a tree and got ready, but the camp