AFTER BIG-GAME IN WYOMING 209 



and got back in time for breakfast, none the worse 

 for our outing. But all that night I had, for the first 

 time, envied Bob's capacity for chewing tobacco. 



We had now killed about a dozen grizzlies with- 

 out any serious difficulty. ' Where are your fighting 

 grizzlies ?' we one evening asked our guides, with all 

 the insolence and confidence of youth. ' We thought 

 these Bighorn grizzlies of yours could fight.' 



' This yer shootin' picnic ain't over yet,' growled 

 the men in return. ' There's some old grizzlies about 

 this range that won't take much to rile, and don't you 

 forget it. You may happen on one yet before you're 

 through, and then you'll find out all right what a b'ar- 

 fight means.' 



The opportunity came sooner than I thought. So 

 far no very old bears had been killed, with the 

 exception of one monster shot by my friend Miller 

 as he lay asleep under a rock. Next day Miller and 

 two of the boys went off on a fishing picnic to a trout- 

 stream not far from camp. Jack and I had spent the 

 morning cleaning bear-hides, and after lunch we rode 

 off north into some rough country where I had pre- 

 viously seen much bear-sign, and presently came to 

 the top of a hill commanding a distant view. Jack 

 used the binoculars while I smoked a contemplative 

 pipe and admired the scenery. 'I see a bear/ at 

 length remarked my companion. ' I thought at first 

 it was a piece of sage-brush, till the darned thing 

 began to move/ We promptly hustled off in pursuit, 

 and after a ride of a mile or more came to an open 

 park, in the centre of which lay a fallen tree. The 

 bear we had seen in the distance had been feeding on 

 a plateau beyond. 



I chanced to be riding ahead. 'There's a bear!' 



14 



