At Close Quarters 103 



ing back and grasping a side of the head with each hand 

 I could just drag the body along, I started with it for the 

 river. Several times in the short distance I was brought to 

 a sudden stop, and on looking around found Jim, the 

 bear's hind paw in his mouth and his own three legs braced, 

 pulling back for all he was worth. Arrived at the bank, I 

 rolled the body in and succeeded in towing it across, but 

 being unable to lift it out of the water, I drew it in behind 

 a ledge of rock, left it there, and went on to camp. 



There, very much at their ease, sat the two hunters 

 who were so anxious to kill a bear. When they saw me, 

 wet and covered with blood, they became excusably excited 

 and wanted to know what was the matter. I told them 

 that I had been killing a grizzly. "But what did you kill 

 him with.^" they said. "Your gun is here in camp." 

 "Well," I answered, "as you fellows did not come when 

 I yelled for help, I had to kill him with my pocket knife." 

 But it took the body of the bear and a post-mortem to boot 

 to satisfy their doubts. 



It seemed that, as soon as I had left camp, they had 

 gone down to the river to get a drink, and the noise made 

 by the stream prevented them from hearing me. Once, 

 they said, they thought they heard a dog barking, but as 

 the sound was not repeated, they thought no more about 

 it. When we came to skin the bear — he was a handsome 

 animal, his pelage a deep black, scantily touched with 

 white — we found seventeen knife wounds back of the right 

 shoulder. Three of his ribs were completely severed and 

 the last stab had pierced his heart. Jim and myself were 

 considerably knocked up. The doctor sewed up our 

 wounds. Jim had to make the rest of the trip on three 



