By some miracle, Catskill’s blunderbuss was still intact. Her legs attempted to protest as she pulled it forward to a firing position, but she wasn’t in any mood to argue. Driven by rabies, the bear was already moving on her. On one of her fetlocks was a metal clip; she swiped it across her bandolier, only to miss as she lurched to one side thanks to overbalancing and panic. Her next try snatched up a cartridge, so she pushed the cartridge into the blunderbuss’s breech and slid it shut.