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Small Bear

The boat was unloaded and equipment was dragged to a low coastal terrace fifteen meters from the water. In the stern of the boat there was only a can of oil and eleven charges of BSA of 303 caliber (7.7 mm) under an English army cartridge. A double-barrel in a case lay under bag packs on the shore and the little TOZ-8 leaned against the boxes tightly against the boxes.

Throwing the last bale off his shoulder, Yuri sat down on him and brushed sweat from his forehead with his hand. Montury was already sitting on the boxes closer to the water and breathing loudly after hard work. The bales and crates were not so heavy as it was inconvenient to walk from the water to the terraces on the slippery coastal pebbles on which a dead growl lay here and there. Montury managed not to notice one of the fishes, stepped on it and crashed flat with a bale on his shoulders.

After about three minutes, taking a breath, Yuri searched for a bag of groceries, pulled out a pack of tea, a bag of sugar, and picked up two bowls of crackers.

Suddenly, Montury jumped up and grabbed a tozkovka. Yury, with full bowls of crackers in both hands, froze and looked at the shepherd with bewilderment, and then turned his eyes in the direction the rifle was staring at.
Along with the side of the terraces, the height of which was a little more than a meter, it moved, then appearing, now disappearing, the head of a large bear.

Montury unhurriedly pulled a cartridge from a miniature cartridge holder, nailed directly to the butt end, and drove it into the barrel. And the bear inexorably approached, from time to time dropping its head to the pebbles, sniffing out the dead fish remaining after spawning.

Before the bear, moving on the left, was about thirty meters, and up to the boat and the combat rifle in a straight line – no more than fifteen or eighteen, but Yurka did not dare to cross the road just in front of his nose. Remove from the case and collect double-barreled for a few seconds, separating the bear from the heap of equipment, there was nothing to think. And it is not known where the patronage was lying, which was carried out of the boat with the very first batch of cargo.

Ridiculously raskoryachivshis and crouching on their crooked notes, Montury led the barrel and in time with the swaying of a bear head, then slightly raised, then lowered the rifle. “He writes out a sinusoid,” Yury noted mechanically and was only going to whisper to the conductor so that he would not even think of shooting, as the shot clicked softly. Both bowls of breadcrumbs flew to the ground, and Yurka rushed headlong to the boat.

Without stopping near the boat pulled out by the nose, he jumped across the chest into the water, got to the stern, reached for eleven charge, jerked the bolt and turned abruptly in the direction where the bear head had last loomed. He saw with his side sight that Montury was sitting on the drawer again and stuffing his pipe with tobacco.

Moving sideways with a trunk set in the direction from which the bear came, Yuri climbed onto the terrace and asked the conductor, who was already lighting his pipe: “Where is the bear?”

Monty smacked his lips, sucking in the air, hesitated well, blew out a club of tobacco smoke and answered indifferently: “I killed him, however.”

Without removing his finger from the trigger, Yuri cautiously moved forward to the edge of the terraces and, right under his feet, saw the carcass of a still animal. Small-sized bullet hit the neck right behind the right ear – and the bear was smitten in place.

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