IN THE LOUISIANA CANEBRAKES 375 



borhood, and the next morning we started to hunt her out. 

 I went with Clive Metcalf. We had been joined over- 

 night by Mr. Ichabod Osborn and his son Tom, two 

 Louisiana planters, with six or eight hounds or rather 

 bear dogs, for in these packs most of the animals are of 

 mixed blood, and, as with all packs that are used in the 

 genuine hunting of the wilderness, pedigree counts for 

 nothing as compared with steadiness, courage and intelli- 

 gence. There were only two of the new dogs that were 

 really staunch bear dogs. The father of Ichabod Osborn 

 had taken up the plantation upon which they were living 

 in 1811, only a few years after Louisiana became part of 

 the United States, and young Osborn was now the third 

 in line from father to son who had steadily hunted bears 

 in this immediate neighborhood. 



On reaching the cypress slough near which the tracks 

 of the old she had been seen the day before, Clive Met- 

 calf and I separated from the others and rode off at a 

 lively pace between two of the canebrakes. After an hour 

 or two's wait we heard, very far off, the notes of one 

 of the loudest-mouthed hounds, and instantly rode 

 toward it, until we could make out the babel of the pack. 

 Some hard galloping brought us opposite the point 

 toward which they were heading, for experienced hunt- 

 ers can often tell the probable line of a bear's flight, and 

 the spots at which it will break cover. But on this occa- 

 sion the bear shied off from leaving the thick cane and 

 doubled back; and soon the hounds were once more out 

 of hearing, while we galloped desperately around the 

 edge of the cane. The tough woods-horses kept their 



