A CHROMATIC BEAR HUNT 



Up the hills again we went, determined to 

 see at last what was in those bear dogs of ours. 

 For five miles we trailed our game, across snow 

 fields where their tracks were knee-deep, over 

 barren reaches where it took all our skill to 

 pick up the signs, until, without warning, the 

 dogs gave tongue and went abristle. They 

 were off, with us after them, the woods ringing 

 to their music, the bears just out of sight 

 through the timber. 



It was during the next hour that I proved 

 to my own satisfaction that a two-hundred- 

 pound man, considerably out of condition, 

 can't outrun a bear. Perhaps it is because the 

 bear knows the country better. 



Half a mile after I had quit running I found 

 Fred panting and dripping on the other side 

 of a stream. 



"Where's Joe? "I called. 



"At the rate he was going when I lost sight 

 of him, he'll be due in Nome about noon, if 

 his boots hold out," Fred answered, sourly. 

 "Where's Little?" 



"Fallen by the wayside. How did you 

 cross the creek?" 



"I didn't! I ran through it. I'm wet to the 

 ears." 

 5 59 



