TRACKERS OF THE NORTH. 37 



bear, which stood gazing down on the camp 

 from behind the fallen tree. 



To raise my rifle and sight it point blank at 

 Bruin's chest was the work of an instant. Crash 

 went the bullet, true to the mark, and the bear 

 fell backward, making the woods echo with its 

 death roars. 



The boy sprang to his feet in a stupid, be- 

 wildered way, asking what was the matter. I 

 did not take time to answer him, being occupied 

 in getting a fresh shell into the barrel, for one 

 never knows when a bear is really dead. The 

 safest way is to have your gun ready and stand 

 off at a reasonble distance and wait until he 

 kicks himself stiff. In this case, however, it 

 was soon over with its bearship, for the bullet 

 had gone right through the heart. 



The joy of the Indian boy knew no bounds 

 when he saw the result of the shot, for he saw 

 many gorges ahead of him. 



I had always been led to believe that smoke, 

 or the blaze from a camp-fire, would keep away 

 the denizens of the Candian forests, and when 

 I told this bear adventure to old hunters they 

 simply listened and gave a polite smile. 



In this instance it must have been a case of 

 inordinate curiosity, accounted for in a manner 

 from the fact of its being a female bear. 



