274 DAN BEARD'S ANIMAL BOOK 



drifted amid the swirling eddies a dark object on 

 the distant shore caught my attention. It was a 

 bear and we were short of meat at camp, and 

 George insisted that I must get that bear; so with 

 some reluctance I shot at it with my Winchester, 

 and it gave utterance to several vigorous "Oughs!" 

 and vanished. 



When we landed, my friend stopped and picked 

 up a bunch of brown hair between his fingers. 

 "You burnt him all right with tha' first shot," 

 he said. "The bullet went right along his back- 

 bone through his hair, and here 'tis in this log." 



I was disappointed, although I did hate to 

 shoot the bear, disappointed because I made a bad 

 shot, but after examining some tell-tale marks on 

 the shore I felt better. 



"George," I said to my campmate, "I wouldn't 

 have shot that bear for $100. It would have been 

 as bad as shooting a child." 



George looked at the marks, too, and laughed. 

 "Gosh all hemlocks !" he cried. "He squatted thar' 

 an' kivered up his legs with the pesky sand jist like 

 a child do, an' made sand pies, too, same as I 

 uster do onct; an' see wha' he's tobogganed down 

 the mud into the slough an' made a regular 'slip- 

 pery' ! jis like I uster on the banks of the Big 

 Muddy when I war a cub of a boy." 



"Say, tha' cub must have a consarned, low-down- 

 opinion of us two. Here he wuz taking a day 

 off on the lake shore, playing hookey, most likely, 

 from b'ar school, an' having a bully good time, 



