42 TRUE BEAR STORIES. 



my face and "play possum" and put in a 

 little prayer or two on the side, like well, 

 I was going on to say that if I should write 

 all that flashed and surged through my 

 mind in the next three seconds, you would 

 be very tired. I was certain I had not hit 

 the bear at all. As a rule, you can always 

 see the "fur fly," as hunters put it; only it 

 is not fur, but dust, that flies. 



But this bear was very fat and hot, and 

 so there could have been no dust to fly. 

 After shuffling a few steps forward and 

 straight for the river, he suddenly surged 

 up again, looked all about, just as before, 

 then turned his face to the river and me, 

 the tallest bear that ever tiptoed up and up 

 and up in the Sierras. One, two, three 

 steps on came the bear! and my gun 

 empty! Then he fell, all at once and all in 

 a heap. No noise, no moaning or groaning 

 at all, no clutching at the ground, as men 

 have seen Indians and even white men do; 

 as if they would hold the earth from pass- 

 ing away nothing of that sort. He lay 



