About This Book
"I'll follow him to the right, and you, Larry, go to the left; we'll have him then, sure."
"All right; it's mesilf that will bate ye, fur all ye're the swiftest runner in Kintucky."
"There isn't a minute to lose; move faster, Larry!"
"Do you attind to your own business, and lave Larry Murphy to himsilf."
The words were uttered quickly, for the two youths were eager and excited. They had caught sight of an enormous bear a few minutes before, as he lumbered into the canebrake in the direction of the torrent which swept furiously toward the Ohio. The young Irishman happened to be a few paces in advance of his companion, Wharton Edwards, and took a flying shot at the brute. Whether he struck him or not was uncertain. The probabilities were that, despite his skill with the rifle, he only scratched his bulky body, or missed him altogether. Before Wharton could bring his weapon to bear, bruin was beyond reach for the time.
