96 Musings by Camp-Fire and Wayside 



As we have no dog of any kind, I wondered thereat, 

 but when nearly across, he threw up his head, 

 paused, then turned and started back. I saw the 

 water splash behind him and before him, and then 

 came the roar of forty-five rifles. Zip, splash, bang, 

 bang, bang! and I yelled to him: "Good luck to 

 you, old fellow! Go it! Dive, you old fool! Why 

 don't you dive? They'll knock the top of your 

 head off if you don't dive!" But the bear — for 

 such he was — just put in his biggest licks at swim- 

 ming, and though they pumped their guns empty at 

 him, they never touched him, and he went over the 

 bushes like a deer when he struck land. When I 

 sat down to my late supper, I kept yelling at the 

 cook to bring me up some bear steaks! "Georgie," 

 said Johnny, "we'd better be dead. The doctor 

 will never let up on us for missing that bear." 



I confess that I once hunted for sport, but now 

 I never take a life without the pressure of neces- 

 sity. I have never stood over a dying victim with- 

 out sharp pangs of conscience. It is awful to have 

 innocent eyes turned upon one in mortal agony, a 

 harmless creature dying at one's hands. The pain 

 it gives to one's sensibilities far overreaches the 

 pleasurable excitement of the chase. This is espe- 

 cially so where there is an outcry. It is pitiful even 

 to see a bear dying in the woods, and to hear his 

 protests. So now, though when I am compelled to 

 hunt deer for the camp I am usually successful, I 

 turn the task over to others when I can. The 



