210 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



whispered Jack as a big gray head appeared over the 

 fallen tree. What followed in the next few moments 

 takes longer to tell than it did to happen. As I 

 sprang from the saddle to shoot, an enormous grizzly 

 of the largest kind jumped up on the trunk of the tree, 

 behind which he had been feeding on a dead elk. As 

 I pulled the first trigger, he sprang down, all claws, 

 hair and teeth, and charged straight at us. The shot 

 was a clean miss over his back as he jumped down ; 

 and here was grizzly not 30 yards away, on a downhill 

 run, and obviously intent on first blood. The second 

 bullet went home, right in the centre of the broad, 

 furry breast, as we afterwards ascertained. He turned 

 a complete somersault, and, lighting on his feet again, 

 came on, apparently uninjured. My rifle was now 

 empty, and there was no time to reload. The next 

 few seconds were a kind of nightmare. I turned and 

 jumped at the saddle ; my horse, seeing the bear close 

 behind me, swerved and bolted. Grizzly, now only a 

 few yards away, was rising to strike with a gigantic 

 clawy, sinewy paw that could with a single blow 

 break a buffalo's back or tear out all his ribs. With 

 a cold thrill down my back, and a sensation at the pit 

 of the stomach that reminded me of the fourth-form 

 room at Harrow, I also swerved and bolted up the 

 hill for all I was ever worth, in what Jack afterwards 

 described as ten-foot strides. He, meanwhile, with 

 unloaded rifle thrown on the ground, sat on his horse 

 50 yards away and emptied his six-shooter at the bear 

 without apparent effect. 



I glanced nervously over my shoulder as I ran, and 

 then saw that the fight was done. Grizzly obviously 

 mortally wounded having missed his blow, was 

 blundering on downhill, probably not knowing where 



