172 THE AMEEICxiN BLACK BEAR. 



The smoke puffed from the muzzle of the piece as 

 the bullet struck him. The ounce of lead buried 

 itself in his flesh, and the bear, giving a start up, 

 seemingly crouched down again. The old hunter 

 coolly wiped out his rifle with a bunch of tow attached 

 to the end of his loading-rod, and the others imme- 

 diately discharged their shot-guns at the bear. 



' Fire away, boys ! ' cried Uncle Ben in sneering 

 tones ; * I'd make a sieve of his old hide, I would, if I 

 was you.' 



' Do you want the varmint to get clean away ? ' an- 

 swered one of the men. 



'Why, the bear's dead!' exclaimed Major C , 



after a more close inspection. 



' I should think he was,' answered Ben. ' Didn't you 

 see me shoot ? ' 



* Certainly, but then he looked alive.' 

 ' I killed that bar as dead as a herring the first shot 

 — I never shoots twice ; but in course so lonof as other 

 folks chose to pepper away, it's no business of mine.' 



Having thus sufficiently disgraced the shot-guns, 

 Uncle Ben leisurely finished loading his piece. The 

 dead bear was all this while in the fork of the tree, at 

 a height of at least thirty feet from the ground on 

 which we were standing, and it was necessary to get 

 him down before we could despoil him of his furry 

 robe. Uncle Ben volunteered to ascend and roll the 

 animal from its resting-place. 



