826 How I Killed a Bear. 



"I don't believe a word of it. What did you do?" 



" Oh, nothing particular — except kill the bear." 



Cries of " Gammon ! " " Don't believe it !" 



" Where's the bear ? " 



" If you want to see the bear you must go up into the woods. I 

 couldn't bring him down alone." 



Having satisfied the household that something extraordinary had 

 occurred, and excited the posthumous fear of some of them for my 

 own safety, I went down into the valley to get help. The great bear- 

 hunter, who keeps one of the summer boarding-houses, received my 

 story with a smile of incredulity ; and the incredulity spread to the 

 other inhabitants and to the boarders as soon as the story was 

 known. However, as I insisted in all soberness, and offered to lead 

 them to the bear, a party of forty or fifty people at last started off 

 with me to bring the bear in. Nobody believed there was any bear 

 in the case ; but everybody who could get a gun carried one ; and 

 we went into the woods armed with guns, pistols, pitchforks, and 

 sticks, against all contingencies or surprises, — a crowd made up 

 mostly of scoffers and jeerers. 



But when I led the way to the fatal spot, and pointed out the 

 bear lying peacefully wrapped in his own skin, something like ter- 

 ror seized the boarders and genuine excitement the natives. It 

 was a no-mistake bear, by George ! and the hero of the fight — 

 well, I will not insist upon that. But what a procession that was, 

 carrying the bear home ! and what a congregation was speedily 

 gathered in the valley to see the bear ! Our best preacher up there 

 never drew anything like it on Sunday. 



And I must say that my particular friends, who were sports- 

 men, behaved very well, on the whole. They didn't deny that it was 

 a bear, although they said it was small for a bear. Mr. Deane, who 

 is equally good with a rifle and a rod, admitted that it was a very 

 fair shot. He is probably the best salmon-fisher in the United States, 

 and he is an equally good hunter. I suppose there is no person in 

 America who is more desirous to kill a moose than he. 



But he needlessly remarked, after he had examined the wound in 

 the bear, that he had seen that kind of a shot made by a cow's horn. 



This sort of talk affected me not. When I went to sleep that 

 night my last delicious thought was: "I've killed a bear." 



