He whipped out his handkerchief, tore the scarf from his neck, and wound them around his hand, that the broken bayonet should not tear the flesh as he fought for his life; then, seizing it, he stood waiting for the bear to come on.
His body was bent forwards, his eyes straining into the dark, his hot face dripping, dripping sweat, his breath coming hard and laboured from his throat.
For a minute there was absolute silence, save for the breathing of the man and the savage panting of the beast.

Presently he felt exactly where the bear was, and listened intently.

He knew that it was now but a question of minutes, perhaps seconds.

Suddenly it occurred to him that if he could but climb upon the ledge where the bayonet had been, there might be safety.

Yet again, in getting up, the bear might seize him, and there would be an end to all immediately.