OH, SHOOT! 



selves blindly, swinging clear in places, trust- 

 ing to roots and branches, until we were 

 halted by a sheer drop and must needs climb 

 back by crevice and finger-hold, then worm 

 ourselves sidewise for a hundred feet to an 

 easier point of descent. 



Sure enough, the bear lay wedged in be- 

 tween the snow and the foot of the precipice, 

 three hundred feet below where I had shot, 

 and when we had boosted him free, away he 

 went again, rolling, tumbling, somersaulting, 

 his tongue lolling, his legs flopping loosely. 

 We planted our feet, and, leaning back against 

 our rifles, skidded after. A clump of willow 

 tops saved him and us from a plunge into the 

 stream and we had him. Such a pelt for 

 softness and beauty I have seldom seen. It 

 matched the library, and I am ankle deep in 

 it as I write. 



After the first day the speed of the waters 

 rendered oars useless, so we bent a hundred- 

 foot line to the bow of our skiff and another 

 shorter one to the stern, then gave ourselves 

 over to the labors of "lining." The two men 

 on the forward rope gave us motive power, 

 while the third member of the party steered 

 with the stern line. 



82 



