VIII: The Death of Old Double Killer
I WAS RIGHT: I COULD hear the prowler’s breathing as well as his soft footsteps. He was almost to the head of my bunk, and, oh, how I wanted to spring out of it and run for the shelter of the spruces, there where our Hopi was. I gritted my teeth together and held my breath; my eyelids were trembling so that I had to close them for an instant, and when I slightly opened them, there, not three feet from my head and considerably higher from the ground, was the head of a monster bear. It was turned toward me; the mean little eyes were staring right into my face and the wet, black snout was all wiggly, sniffing the air, and I knew at once that old Double Killer himself was staring at me, for no other bear’s head could be as large as that. The talk of our mo
