130 FIGHT WITH A BEAR. 



I let the thief know who was master. Guns in those 

 days were not as good as they are now, for a miss- 

 fire was far from uncommon ; but I had a fresh load 

 in my piece, for, ten minutes before, I had knocked 

 over a Canada partridge that was roosting in a spruce 

 tree I passed immediately after leaving camp. If I 

 had turned tail and made tracks, I could have done 

 so without risk ; but give up my moose-meat, and 

 have my hide destroyed, the value of which I almost 

 felt already in my pocket, was more than could be 

 expected from human nature. Well, I went in de- 

 termined to win, and scarcely had I ever a tougher job 

 since I was born. I aimed for the horse-shoe on the 

 bear's breast, but shot too high, for, instead of dropping 

 the beast, he came right at me. I had not the ghost 

 of a chance to load again, so I clubbed my gun, and 

 gave him the full weight of it over the head, smash- 

 ing its stock into splinters. Although this halted 

 him for a few moments, it was more from feeling 

 stunned than disinclined to continue the battle. He 

 rushed at me a second time. The gun-barrel, which 

 alone remained in my hands, proved a good weapon : 

 for over five minutes I kept the vermin off, till both 

 became weak with exertion and excitement. At 

 length, when trying to deal a heavier blow, I tripped 

 over a limb, and in a moment the black fiend had me 

 by the shoulder, his nostrils squirting out jets of fire 

 upon my cheek. Some folks would have thought all 

 was up with me, but I didn't. The blood-letting 

 which I suffered seemed to bring me to, and as we 



