But that
marvelous swaying motion of the hips that had eluded so many tacklers
on the football field stood him in stead, and he just grazed the enormous
claw that tried to stop him.
That strategy proved his salvation. The grizzly plunged along for many
feet before he could turn, and in that instant's respite Bert saw his
chance.
Right in front of him was a tall oak whose lowest branch was full twenty
feet from the ground. Like a streak Bert reached it, whirled around to
the farther side and swarmed up it like a monkey. He reached the fork and
swung himself out on the branch with not a second to spare. The grizzly,
frothing with rage and hate, had hurled himself against the tree and his
up-reaching claw had torn the bark in a vain attempt to clutch the leg
that he only missed by inches.
But he was balked. He could not climb, and the tree was too big for him
to tear down, as he might have done had it been slenderer or younger. By
the narrowest of margins he had failed to add one more victim to those
who had already fallen before his ferocity.
Not that he had relinquished hope.
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