Another dog was killed, and a week passed.
The komatik wood was nearly gone, although but one small fire was
built each day, and the end of their tea was in sight.
This was the state of affairs when Bob wandered one day farther to the
southward over the pack ice than usual, and suddenly saw in the
distance a moving object. At first he imagined that it was a bit of
moving ice, so near was it to the colour of the field. This was quite
impossible, however, and approaching it stealthily, he soon discovered
that it was a polar bear.
The animal was wandering leisurely to the south. Bob carried the rifle
that Mr. MacPherson had given him, as he always did on these
occasions, and keeping in the lee of ice hummocks, that he might not
be seen by the bear, ran noiselessly forward. Finally he was within
shooting distance and, raising the gun, took aim and fired.
Perhaps it was because of weakness through improper food, or possibly
as the result of too much eagerness, but the aim was unsteady and the
bullet only grazed and slightly wounded the bear.
The brute growled and turned to see what it was that had struck him.
When it discovered its enemy it rose on its haunches and offered
battle.
Bob was for a moment paralyzed by the immense proportions that the
bear displayed, and almost forgot that he had more bullets at his
disposal.
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