96 GUN, RIFLE, AND HOUND. 



Crow from his slumbers to hear such language as I 

 trust I have not often been guilty of. I can certainly 

 plead extreme provocation, but for five minutes or so 

 the recording angel must have been pretty busy with 

 my page. At length I felt I had verbally and manu- 

 ally done my utmost to rouse Mr. Jim Crow to a sense 

 of his sin, and not feeling inclined to persevere after 

 such a crushing blow, I descended the tree. After 

 lighting our lantern I examined the spoor. Buffaloes 

 they certainly were, and apparently one was a bull, for 

 the hoofs were a good deal bigger than the others. 

 I lit a cheroot and made for the carts, which were 

 soon under way for our next camp. 



I did not feel inclined to go out next morning, so 

 Will went alone and shot a buck axis. He told me 

 he had seen a good lot of bear spoor, and Jim Crow 

 swore he knew " berry good tank," so I agreed to go 

 again. 



I had been waiting over the " berry good tank," 

 which turned out to be a small, dirty-looking pond, 

 about an hour and a half. I need hardly say that this 

 time I had not failed to keep a sharp eye on Jim, push- 

 ing him whenever I noticed he remained long in one 

 position. All at once, without a sound to warn me, 

 two bears appeared coming straight down to the pool. 

 When they got there I aimed at one and fired. Be- 

 fore I could note the effect of the shot, he reared up 

 and attacked his companion, growling fiercely. The 

 other, who was nothing loth for a fight (when is a 

 Ceylon bear ? the most cantankerous and evil-dispo- 

 sitioned little wretch on the face of the earth), at once 



