At Close Quarters 99 



to produce any effect beyond a snort and a more than usu- 

 ally vicious stroke at the dog; and my pole soon became so 

 shortened by constant breaking that only a small club 

 remained. 



We now came to a little stream that drained a spring 

 fifty yards back from the river. Across it there was a fallen 

 tree about eighteen inches thick, and across this tree, and 

 parallel with the creek bank, another tree had fallen, form- 

 ing a sort of pen ten or twelve feet square. Pete now came 

 up, the bear and the dog stumbled against these logs and 

 fell into the pen, and as they tumbled over I happened to 

 notice the bear's paw, and for the first time, and to my 

 utter astonishment, realized that it was a grizzly, instead 

 of a black bear we were trying to tree. 



I now saw that I was probably in a scrape if those 

 hunters did not show up, and I tried to yell louder than 

 ever, but I had done so much of that already that my voice 

 was nearly gone. However, I stood outside the log pen and 

 did the best I could, and now and then, when I thought the 

 bear was not looking, I whacked him over the head with 

 my club, but of course did him no harm. Jim, the bull- 

 dog, was on the side next the creek, while Pete, the mon- 

 grel, was over next to the log. When the bear came Pete's 

 way he slid under the tree out of reach. Jim, on the other 

 hand, was not so lucky, as he had to jump the two-foot 

 bank, and I cannot to this day see why the grizzly did not 

 kill him. 



I saw that if I had a good two-handed, heavy club that 

 would not break I could likely smash the bear's head, and 

 regretted taking off my belt, on which a small hatchet was 

 slung. I never carried a hunting knife, but did all my 



