Shooting a Grizzly 



nearly dark the timber began to take a more upright 

 position. To my relief we came to what Dave called an 

 " elk park." It was a series of small meadows with 

 bunches of cottonwoods and quaking-asp between them, 

 and fine grass for the horses. Elk tracks and elk beds 

 were all around us. 



We were too tired, scratched, and sore to hunt. Un- 

 saddling and unpacking our lagging animals, we turned 

 them loose. I unstrapped my heavy cartridge-belt 

 and six-shooter and hung them on the branch of a tree, 

 glad to be rid of the dangling weight. Hearing the 

 gurgle of a mountain stream a little way off, I picked 

 up the coffee-pot and went for water while Dave built 

 a fire and opened the provisions. I walked perhaps fifty 

 yards before coming to the bed of the creek. The spring 

 torrent had washed away the gravel, leaving a little bank 

 a couple of feet above the surface of the brook. Taking 

 the coffee-pot by the nozzle and putting my left arm 

 around a cottonwood to help me maintain my balance, 

 I reached down and dipped a potful of water and slaked 

 my thirst. 



As I was drinking I heard the stones rattling on the 

 other side of the brook behind some bushes. Glancing, 

 somewhat startled, in the direction of the noise, I 

 discerned a big black shapeless mass. It moved, then 

 growled, and believing it to be a bear, and having heard 

 that bears were timid when confronted by unexpected 

 sights and sounds, I emitted a lusty yell and threw the 

 coffee-pot full of water at the dark growling shape. 



Its identity was immediately established. It stood 

 up on its hind-legs, gave a most convincing snarl, and 

 started toward me. I started up the tree. There were 

 no branches on this old cottonwood within ten feet of 

 the ground, but I went up that smooth trunk like an 

 electric shock. The interim between the time I started 



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