AFTER BIG-GAME IN WYOMING 213 



had concealed our trail and our presence and had 

 subsequently proceeded to raid a valley farther west. 

 The rifle-shots Miller had heard the previous day were 

 no doubt the Indians killing some buffalo for meat. 



Our guides declined to do any more hunting, and 

 insisted on an immediate return. Next day we left 

 our camp with regret, and proceeded to go south in 

 what we, who had no experience of Indians, thought 

 to be an undignified hurry. We subsequently altered 

 our opinion, and the local view was that we narrowly 

 escaped, mainly through the luck of the snowstorm, 

 an Indian fight. 



But there was yet another bear episode in store. 

 I had ridden ahead of the pack-train, and was engaged 

 in eating my lunch as I jogged along, when, on round- 

 ing a corner, there on an open hillside, not 200 yards 

 away, was a fair-sized silver-tip digging for roots. 

 The temptation for a shot was irresistible. I jumped 

 from the saddle, and with the bridle over my arm 

 opened fire on the bear. My horse had recently 

 become rather jumpy under fire, and would not stand 

 well. The continuous and all-pervading smell of 

 bear's - grease for many weeks past had tended to 

 upset his nervous system. For one shot he stood. 

 This, luckily, broke the bear's leg. Then he dragged 

 steadily on my arm, while I contrived ineffectually to 

 bombard the silver-tip, who at first indulged in a 

 variety of uncouth antics, no doubt savage and 

 wondering at the strange fly that had bitten him, 

 and then, on three legs, galloped for a neighbouring 

 belt of timber. 



Meanwhile the whole pack-train had filed into view, 

 and our men watched with amusement what they 

 were subsequently pleased to describe as a circus. 



