George estimated that his wood might last ten minutes longer.  Then there would be a rush, a crunching of bones and all would be over.

A rifle shot sounded from the outside, and one of the bears dropped to the rocky floor, struggled spasmodically for a moment, and then straightened out and lay still.  The next instant another shot, equally accurate, came and the second bear was dead in a moment.

The boy waited eagerly for the appearance of the man who had done the shooting.  He had no idea who the man might be, and was not quite certain that the fellow had not taken from him one danger only to place him in another.  Still, he looked eagerly forward to his appearance.

When the man appeared, a smoking double-barreled rifle in his hand, George saw a tall, ungainly figure with long legs, a long, slim body, very high cheek bones, and rather stern and uncompromising blue eyes.

The newcomer was dressed in the leather jacket usually worn by trappers in that district, leather leggins, moccasins, and fur cap.  A belt of red leather, probably colored and tanned by some Indian process, was drawn tightly about his waist.  There were gold rings in his ears which swung an inch down on his brown cheeks.

“Hello, sonny!” the man said, advancing into the cavern, standing the butt of his rifle on the rock, and leaning on the barrel.

“Say,” the boy almost shouted, springing forward and extending his hand, “that’s about the best shooting I’ve seen in a year!”

“The place to hit a bear,” the new-comer replied, “is in the neck, right about where the spinal cord starts to crawl under the skull.”

“It’s a good thing you came along just as you did,” George stated.  “I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am, and so you’ll have to take that for granted.  You saved my life!”

“I’m Antoine,” the other said, in a moment, after a casual survey of the boy.  “I’m a hunter and trapper.  I saw the bears looking in, and knew from the smoke coining out that there was a human being in here, too.  Knowing that bears and humans don’t mix remarkably well, I came in, too.  That’s all there is to it!”

“I guess they would have mixed with me all right in about a minute,” George said with a smile.  “I had about abandoned hope!”

“How’d you get here?” asked Antoine.

George related the story of the adventures of the previous night, omitting, however, any mention of the Little Brass God.  While he talked, there came to his mind an indistinct impression that the face of the man he had seen sitting by the fire was the face of the man who now stood before him.

He put the thought away instantly, for he did not believe that the person who had left him on the floor of the cavern to die of cold and exposure, or to be devoured by wild beasts, could be the same who had so opportunely rescued him from death.

“You must be hungry, I take it,” Antoine said, after the boy bad concluded his recital.  “Boys usually are hungry.”