272 CAMP-FIRES IN THE CANADIAN ROCKIES 



and started back almost on a run, to reach Charlie's look- 

 out point by the time the hunters began their attack on 

 the bear. I was not a moment too soon, for at twenty 

 minutes past five, I heard John's .405 roar and echo in 

 the canyon. The shot was quickly followed by five or 

 six others, and it was clear that the battle was on. 



Covering my remaining distance on a keen run, I 

 joined Charlie on the rim-rock, just as the first fusillade 

 ended. A little later, when we saw the bear break out 

 of the timber island into the open slide, we thought it 

 had escaped; but when we saw it roll, and then heard the 

 roar of Mr. Phillips's big gun, we yelled our approval. 

 But we were a trifle premature. We were terribly dis- 

 appointed when the pursuing hunters, without a sound 

 in reply to us, disappeared in the brush and timber. We 

 knew they were following a wounded animal; and in 

 thick and tangled willow brush, a wounded bear is what 

 Sioux Indians call " bad medicine." 



After quite a long interval, we heard more firing, 

 and saw the boys running. We were able to locate them 

 by Mr. Phillips's white undershirt. Presently we saw 

 arms wildly semaphoring, and triumphant yells came 

 pealing across the valley. By those tokens we knew that 

 the bear was dead. We yelled back our approval and 

 congratulations, but when I shouted " Is-it-a-^/^-one? " 

 the wires immediately stopped working! 



Charlie had not once seen the two hunters, and had 

 no knowledge of their movements, until they opened fire. 

 Even then, the distance was so great, and their clothing 

 so perfectly matched with their surroundings, it was only 



