A Mountain Fraud 



It had taken Hanna and me three hours' hard 

 climbing to get near the summit, where we 

 expected to find some of the bull elk we had 

 heard whistling, and the tracks of which we 

 saw fresh and plentiful as we ascended. 



We were moving very quietly along the 

 game trail, Hanna ahead, when he sud- 

 denly stopped and pointed about seventy-five 

 yards in front, where we saw the two cubs 

 playing on some rocks overhanging a deep 

 gulch. We fired nearly simultaneously. My 

 cub dropped dead, while Hanna's, badly 

 wounded, started up the mountain howling 

 his best. It was not ten seconds before the 

 mother appeared, not fifteen yards ahead of 

 us, charging down the trail looking as big as 

 a horse and growling savagely. Hanna, be- 

 ing a step in front of me, fired, and the bear 

 dropped, but was up in an instant and came 

 straight on. He shot again, and again she 

 dropped, but was up like a rubber ball. The 

 third time the cartridge failed to explode. 

 The bear turned a little out of the trail, evi- 

 dently bewildered, but as vicious as ever. As 

 she passed me, within ten feet, I shot, and the 

 ball pierced the heart, but it required two more 



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