Then he turned and charged full at the bear, who
was hot in pursuit and no mean runner. He hurled the lariat. It fell
short, and lay quivering on the ground like a huge wounded snake. Roldan
gave an exclamation, of surprise as much as of dismay: he was an expert
with the rope. He turned, however, dragging it in. It caught about the
mustang's hind legs. The beast went down, neighing with horror. Roldan
tried to jerk him to his feet. He seemed hopelessly entangled. Roldan
extricated himself, knowing that he was comparatively safe, as bears
prefer horse-meat to man's. He had no sooner got his feet free of the
boots than the mustang leaped to his feet and fled like a hare, dragging
the lariat in a straight line after him.
Roldan was alone, the bear not ten yards away. The rest of his party
were a mile and more behind. No one apparently had noticed his flight
with the solitary bear. The light was uncertain and the excitement over
there intense.
Roldan took to his agile young heels. But the bear gathered himself and
leaped, not once but several times. There was no doubt that his blood
was up, and that he meant a duel to the death. Roldan turned with a
catching of what breath was left in him.
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