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Turning, he saw the mother bear coming for him 

 and not more than sixty feet away. 



Springing to his rifle, he put two steel-clad bul- 

 lets into the grizzly, emptying his gun. With re- 

 markable coolness he slipped in another cartridge 

 and sent a third bullet into her. But Mauser bul- 

 lets are small and an enraged grizzly is a hard 

 thing to stop. The three bullets did not stop this 

 mother bear, frantic at the sight of her dead cub. 

 With one stroke of her paw she knocked the hunter 

 into a gulch, eight feet below. Then she sprang 

 down after him, caught him in her mouth, shook 

 him as a dog might shake a doll, and dropped him. 

 She caught him up again, his face between her 

 tusks, shook him, and again dropped him. A third 

 time she snatched him up. But now the little 

 Mauser bullets had done their work, and she fell 

 dead across the hunter's feet. 



It was high time, for the man was in little better 

 condition than the bear. His scalp and cheek and 

 throat were torn open, there were five gaping 

 wounds in his chest, his thigh bore an irregular tear 

 two or three inches wide from which the flesh hung 

 in ragged strips, and his left wrist was broken and 

 the bones protruding through the twisted flesh. 



i68 



