IN THE BIG HORN MOUNTAINS. 71 



house when we get back to the post, and don't you forget 

 it," said Jack. 



After dinner we started out in different directions to look 

 for game. I went up the river about a mile, and then turned 

 into the thickets. Bear signs were plentiful at every turn, 

 and many of them fresh. I felt sure I should find old big 

 Moccasin Joe, as they call him out here, before night. I 

 hunted along down the river till just at sunset, when I saw a 

 large cinnamon-bear on the side of a steep bluif upon the 

 opposite side of the river, turning over rocks and rustling for 

 his chuck. He was about two hundred and fifty yards away, 

 and there was a large swamp between us, so that I could get 

 no closer without going a long way around the swamp. I 

 was afraid to undertake that for I should have to lose sight of 

 him awhile, and fearing he might stray off during that time, 

 I decided to shoot from where I was. I elevated to what I 

 judged the distance to be, knelt down and fired. I didn't 

 see the first ball strike, and so concluded it must have passed 

 over him and gone into some brush beyond. He paid no 

 attention to it. I held a little lower and fired again. This 

 time I saw the ball strike just under him and explode. I 

 think a piece of the bullet must have struck him, or else the 

 explosion knocked a small stone against him, for he jumped 

 and disappeared in the brush close by. I supposed, of 

 course, he was gone, and took out my field-cleaner to wipe 

 my rifle, but before I got through with it he returned to the 

 same place, and went to work again. I now had my ele- 

 vation exactly, and I knew that I could hit him this time, so 

 I took a careful aim, just behind the shoulder (he stood 

 broadside to me), held about eight inches higher on him 

 than at the last shot, and when old pill-driver spoke to him 

 this time he reared up, turned half around, plunged forward, 

 then fell backward, and rolled with a crashing, thrashing 



