American Big-Game Hunting 
is a moment of intense interest, for I don’t 
know where he will appear. My attention is 
kept constantly to the rear and left rear. 
No more noise. What has become of him? 
It is getting very dark, and maybe it was 
a mistake. Presently, there! right on me 
apparently, but really fifty yards to the left 
rear, stands a black mass that must be the 
bear. I rise cautiously to a sitting position, 
and as he stands, looking wistfully up toward 
the old horse, I pull away at his side. The 
report is followed by a suppressed bawl, and 
he rolls over. I am loaded in a moment and 
waiting to see if he regains his feet. He 
does not, and it is unnecessary to fire. I 
walk up to him with finger on trigger at a 
ready, but the death-rattle is in his throat, 
and another shot is unnecessary. He turns 
out to be a black bear with a very black 
coat, and pretty well furred. He is dressed 
as quickly as possible, for it is now dark, and 
quite six miles to quarters, over a trailless 
mountain. A walk of half a mile to my horse 
Pike, and then as rapid a ride home as 
circumstances will admit, wind up the even- 
ing’s adventures. I am well satisfied, but 
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