164 CAMP-FIRES IN THE CANADIAN ROCKIES 



light-gray stipple of slide-rock, beside the scanty remains 

 of my goat. 



Even as I took my first look, the animal rose on his 

 haunches, and for a moment looked intently toward the 

 north, away from us. The wind waved his long hair, 

 one wave after another. It was a fine chance for a line 

 shot at the spinal column; and at once I made ready 

 to fire. 



" Do you think you can kill him from here? " asked 

 Charlie, anxiously. " You can get nearer to him if you 

 like." 



"Yes; I think I can hit him from here all right." 

 (I had carefully fixed the sights of my rifle, several days 

 previously.) 



" Well, if you don't hit him, I'll kick you down this 

 ridge!" said Charlie, solemn as a church owl, with an 

 on-your-head-be-it air. To me, it was clearly a moment 

 of great peril. 



I greatly desired to watch that animal for half an 

 hour; but when a bear-hunter finds a grizzly bear, the 

 thing for him to do is to kill it first, and watch it after- 

 ward. I realized that no amount of bear observations 

 ever could explain to John Phillips the loss of that bear. 



As I raised my .303 Savage, the grizzly rose in a 

 business-like way, and started to walk up the slide-rock, 

 due south, and a little quartering from us. This was not 

 half so good for me as when he was sitting down. Aim- 

 ing to hit his heart and lungs, close behind his foreleg, 

 and allowing a foot for his walking, I let go. 



A second or two after the " whang " the bear reared 



