The Unexpected 135 



to discuss our chances of crawling up on him. We were 

 sure now that he had seen us, but there was not a bush 

 between us and the bear, and there was nothing we could 

 tie the horses to, and we did not dare leave them for fear 

 they would run and frighten the bear. At this stage of the 

 discussion, however, we saw the bushes sway, out jumped 

 the grizzly, and down he came again straight toward us. It 

 seemed as if he must surely have seen us, but I told Pope 

 to let him come as long as he would, and he actually came 

 up within a hundred and fifty yards of us, when he turned 

 to the left, stopped, and commenced digging out a ground 

 squirrel. 



This was our chance. The bear was standing broad- 

 side on, and Pope fired, hitting him just back of the shoul- 

 der and piercing the heart. It was a good shot. The bear 

 turned a somersault, cart-wheeled down toward us, and 

 never stopped until he landed in the little trail that we were 

 following, and not more than thirty yards from where we 

 stood. 



This was Pope's first grizzly, and from the stories he 

 had been told of how wild these bears were and how hard 

 to kill, he had felt that it was doubtful if he ever got one. 

 Yet we, with the two horses, had been standing all the time 

 in plain view. Not a bush screened us, and the horses kept 

 their ears pointed forward and watched the bear from the 

 time he left the ridge until Pope shot him. It was a 

 strange adventure. 



A year or so later, while photographing in the Bitter 

 Roots with Mr. W. E. Carlin, we spent most of the sum- 

 mer and early fall on one of the divides between the South 

 and Middle Forks of the Clearwater River. We were 



