306 The Wilderness Hunter. 



my bullet went low, entering his open mouth, smashing 

 his lower jaw and going into the neck. I leaped to one 

 side almost as I pulled trigger ; and through the hanging 

 smoke the first thing I saw was his paw as he made a 

 vicious side blow at me. The rush of his charge carried 

 him past. As he struck he lurched forward, leaving a 

 pool of bright blood where his muzzle hit the ground ; 

 but he recovered himself and made two or three jumps 

 onwards, while I hurriedly jammed a couple of cartridges 

 into the magazine, my rifle holding only four, all of which 

 I had fired. Then he tried to pull up, but as he did so 

 his muscles seemed suddenly to give way, his head 

 drooped, and he rolled over and over like a shot rabbit. 

 Each of my first three bullets had inflicted a mortal 

 wound. 



It was already twilight, and I merely opened the car- 

 cass, and then trotted back to camp. Next morning I 

 returned and with much labor took off the skin. The fur 

 was very fine, the animal being in excellent trim, and 

 unusually bright-colored. Unfortunately, in packing it 

 out I lost the skull, and had to supply its place with one 

 of plaster. The beauty of the trophy, and the memory of 

 the circumstances under which I procured it, make me 

 value it perhaps more highly than any other in my house. 



This is the only instance in which I have been regu- 

 larly charged by a grisly. On the whole, the danger of 

 hunting these great bears has been much exaggerated. 

 At the beginning of the present century, when white 

 hunters first encountered the grisly, he was doubtless an 

 exceedingly savage beast, prone to attack without provo- 



