SUMMER RETREAT IN ARKANSAS. 43 
one else was near enough to fire without hitting the 
dogs. 
‘Give him the knife!” cried those at a distance. 
Bob Herring’s long blade was already flashing in 
his hand, but sticking a live bear is not child’s play ; he 
was standing undecided, when he saw the hind legs of 
Bose upwards; thrusting aside one or two of the dogs 
with his hand, he made a pass at the bear’s throat, but 
the animal was so quick, that he struck the knife with 
his fore paw, and sent it whirling into the cane ; another 
was instantly handed Bob, which he thrust at the bear, 
but the point was so blunt, that it would not penetrate 
the skin. 
Foiled a third time, with a tremendous oath on him- 
self, and the owner of a knife, “that wouldn’t stick a 
cabbage,” he threw it indignantly from him, and seizing, 
unceremoniously, a rifle, just then brought up by one of 
the party, heretofore in the rear; he, utterly regardless 
of his own legs, thrust it against the side of the bear 
with considerable force, and blowed him through; the 
bear struggled but for a moment, and fell dead. 
“T saw snakes last night in my dreams,” said Bob, 
handing back the rifle to its owner—“ and I never had 
any good luck the next day, arter sich a sarcumstance— 
T call this hull hunt about as mean an affair as damp 
powder; that bar thar,” pointing to the carcass, “ that 
bar thar ought to have been killed afore he maimed a 
dog.” 
