Page:Zakhar Berkut(1944).djvu/19

 Hardly were the words out of his mouth when, through an opening between two great logs, a shaggy head appeared and two brown eyes, half-curious and half-afraid, peered at Tuhar Wolf, who stood at his place in line just about ten paces away from it.

Tuhar was an old soldier and an experienced huntsman. He was not frightened by this sudden, unexpected encounter. Without uttering a word, he pulled out a heavy, iron arrow, placed it in his bow and stepped back a pace to take aim..

“Aim for his eye, Boyarin!” whispered Maxim from behind him.

An apprehensive moment of silence; an arrow whistled and the beast howled and fell back. Although he disappeared from view behind the pile of fallen timber, his pain-maddened roars did not cease.

“After him!” cried Tuhar Wolf and pushed his way through the opening where the bear had disappeared. At the same time two of the boyar huntsmen had climbed atop the pile of timber and held their javelins in readiness to aim at the beast. Tuhar Wolf, standing just at the opening, shot another arrow at the bear who roared even louder and turned to run away, but his eyes filled with blood so that he could not see his way out and kept bumping into trees as he ran.

A javelin thrown by one of the boyars struck him between the shoulder blades; however, it failed to down him. The savage howls of the wounded beast increased in volume. In desperation, he reared up on his hind legs trying to wipe away with his hairy paws the blood from his eyes which continuously overflowed them, clawing and tearing at the leafy branches before him, throwing them to the ground. But to no avail, one eye was completely shattered by the arrow and the other kept filling up with blood. He wheeled around blindly and approached Tuhar again, who cast his bow aside and, ducking behind the up-turned root of the fallen tree, unhooked his