Hunting at High Altitudes 



and reported that instead of a fox, it was a cub 

 bear in the trap. The mother was rooting around 

 nearby, and though she saw him, did not seem 

 afraid. I felt that I must do something. For some 

 time I had been improving, until now I was hob- 

 bling around on one crutch and one stick. The 

 more I thought of the neighborhood of the bear 

 the stronger I felt, and finally I proposed to 

 Heyford that if he would carry my rifle, we would 

 go out and see the bear. I supposed that the old 

 one would remain with her cub, and we took no 

 pains to conceal our approach. She must have dis- 

 covered it, for when I hobbled up in sight of the 

 place where Heyford had left her, she had dis- 

 appeared. Higher up the mountain I saw peeping 

 over a rise in the ground a dark spot, which proved 

 to be the old bear, which had ignominiously de- 

 serted her cub, still in the trap. Heyford killed 

 and skinned the cub, and we returned to camp. 

 The exercise of the forenoon had not been injuri- 

 ous to my leg; in fact, I felt better. That night 

 Corey returned with a good mail. It is said that 

 troubles generally come in pairs, and something 

 that happened a day or two later tends to substan- 

 tiate the truth of this saying. The second day 

 after I started out for the bear, I ventured on my 

 first ride over the mountains to the west, into the 



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