SUMMER RETREAT IN ARKANSAS. 4\ 
this, seemed an age—thé fight all the time sounding 
terrible, for every now and then the bear evidently made 
a rush at the dogs as they narrowed their circle, or came 
individually, too near his person. 
Crawling through and over the cane-brake, was a 
new thing to me, and in the prevailing excitement my 
feet seemed tied together, and there was always a vine 
directly under my chin to cripple my exertions. While 
thus struggling, I heard a suspicious cracking in my 
ear, and looking round, I saw Bob Herring a foot taller 
than usual, stalking over the cane like a colossus; he 
very much facilitated my progress by a shove in the 
rear. 
“Come along, stranger,’ he shouted, his voice as 
clear as a bell, “come along; the bar and the dogs are 
going it like a high-pressure political meeting, and I 
must be thar to put in a word, sartain.” 
Fortunately for my wind, I was nearer the contest 
than I imagined, for Bob Herring stopped just ahead of 
me, examined his rifle, with two or three other hunters 
just arrived from the stands, and by peeping through 
the undergrowth, we discovered within thirty yards of 
us, the fierce raging fight. 
Nothing distinctly, however, was seen; a confused 
mass of legs, heads, and backs of dogs, flying about as 
if attached to a ball, was all we could make out. On 
still nearer approach, confusion would clear off for a 
moment, and the head of the bear could be seen, his 
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