OH, SHOOT! 



snow field I was ascending narrowed into a 

 gutter between bold cliffs through which had 

 poured the countless tons forming the great 

 drift below. I came into a chute where the 

 bottom was like glass and where I was in 

 fear some playful avalanche might send me 

 whizzing down that two-thousand-foot to- 

 boggan. Below and back of me lay forty flat 

 miles of alluvial plain ; in front of me the wall 

 reared itself to perpetual white. 



I was wheezing upward on all-fours, my 

 lungs bursting, my pores dripping, when I saw 

 the bear crossing over my head where the 

 defile widened, funnellike. It was similar to 

 target practice up the slant of a spire with 

 nothing to indicate the range, but some un- 

 natural movement of the brute told me I was 

 shooting close. Before I could recharge the 

 magazine, however, he was across the slide and 

 swallowed up in the alders. Another hard 

 climb, and the red snow told me he was indeed 

 wounded. But how to get him out, now that 

 he had the advantage? I gouged more toe- 

 holds with my Remington and pursued my 

 ascent until the snow lay at such an angle that 

 I feared my weight might start it, then crept 

 gingerly into the brush. 



80 



