OH, SHOOT! 



king of outdoor sports it makes one feel so 

 manly and strong and rheumatic. 



We chipped footholds in the crusted snow- 

 slides which overhung the rapids, creeping 

 cautiously along slopes where a misstep or a 

 slip meant a downward shoot of a hundred 

 feet into the torrent. We were clinging thus 

 at one point when two brown bears met us, 

 but there was no chance to save them had we 

 fired, and they were off after one frightened 

 whiff of us. Nor could we find the fellow we 

 had wounded, search as we might, so back we 

 went across those hair-raising, slippery tobog- 

 gans again, balancing in the toeholds we had 

 previously made. Again we waded Chinaman 

 Charlie Slew, with its slush ice up to our chests, 

 and, thirty-six hours after leaving, dragged 

 ourselves back into camp. 



To the hunter there is an unwearying variety 

 to his "kills," yet in the telling I dare say they 

 are all much alike. One episode, however, is 

 worth recounting. In crossing a torrent by 

 the familiar tree-trunk route Fred met a black 

 bear which seemed late for an appointment. 

 Off it went into the foam below at the first 

 shot, only to rush out and up the hillside, 

 with Fred teetering on his perch like a canary 



100 



