A CHROMATIC BEAR HUNT 



the undergrowth lunged the big cinnamon, 

 nearly trampling him. The bear rose to its 

 hind legs and snorted, while Joe did a brisk 

 dance, side-stepping neatly from underneath 

 his photographic harness and fairly kicking 

 himself up and out of his rubber boots. 

 Before either footgear or camera had ended 

 its flight he had sized up the dimensions of 

 every spruce tree within a radius of forty rods, 

 and was headed for the most promising. 



I dare say my own movements were purely 

 muscular at the time. I got out of Joe's way 

 in time to avoid being badly trampled, only 

 to glimpse through my sights a brown rump 

 over which the brush was closing, and remem- 

 ber deciding that with five shots in an untried 

 weapon I didn't care to chance a tail shot, 

 especially with that other big gray bear con- 

 cealed within forty feet and more especially 

 since Joe had staked the only available tree. 



In the days which followed I cursed myself 

 bitterly at the memory of those white-hot 

 seconds. 



"Gosh 'Imighty! If I'd only had a six- 

 shooter!" panted Joe, regarding me with dis- 

 gust. "Why didn't you give it to him?" 



"I wanted to get the big one first," said I. 

 55 



