90 The Grizzly Bear 



Jack's gun was a single-shot, .40-70 Winchester. He 

 claimed that a good hunter should never carry more than 

 four cartridges for a day's hunt, and consequently he 

 never carried but that number. One of these was always 

 in the gun, the other three were tucked away in his pocket, 

 one in each finger of an old kid glove. 



That evening there were three old miners camped near 

 us, and in about ten minutes after Jack and Martin left, 

 we heard the dog bark and the report of Jack's rifle. In 

 a short time there was another report and the barking of 

 the dog continued. Almost immediately another shot was 

 heard and the miners began to wonder as to the cause of 

 the shooting. I told them that the boys were after beaver 

 and that, as Jack never took more than four cartridges 

 with him, the fun was about over. And just then we 

 heard the report of the last shot. I was about ready to 

 turn into bed, as I was tired after the long day, and had 

 already taken off my shoes, when I heard a shout and 

 saw Martin coming through the flooded bottom ten feet 

 at a jump, splashing water as he came. His hat was 

 missing and he acted like a limited express going through 

 without stops. 



And as he came he yelled: "Get your gun! Turn the 

 dogs loose! There are some grizzlies out there and I 

 guess they've killed Jack," I managed to make out. So 

 I loosed the dogs, caught up my gun, and, without wait- 

 ing to put on my shoes, made the water fly nearly as high 

 as Martin had in coming in. I jumped the small stream, 

 and, landing among the stumps of some shrub willows 

 that had been eaten off by the beaver, punched several 

 holes in the bottom of my feet. I could not, however, 



