376 AN AMERICAN HUNTER 



feet like cats as they leaped logs, plunged through bushes, 

 and dodged in and out among the tree trunks ; and we had 

 all we could do to prevent the vines from lifting us out 

 of the saddle, while the thorns tore our hands and faces. 

 Hither and thither we went, now at a trot, now at a run, 

 now stopping to listen for the pack. Occasionally we 

 could hear the hounds, and then off we would go racing 

 through the forest toward the point toward which we 

 thought they were heading. Finally, after a couple of 

 hours of this, we came up on one side of a canebrake on 

 the other side of which we could hear, not only the pack, 

 but the yelling and cheering of Harley Metcalf and Tom 

 Osborn and one or two of the negro hunters, all of whom 

 were trying to keep the dogs up to their work in the thick 

 cane. Again we rode ahead, and now in a few minutes 

 were rewarded by hearing the leading dogs come to bay 

 in the thickest of the cover. Having galloped as near to 

 the spot as we could we threw ourselves off the horses and 

 plunged into the cane, trying to cause as little disturbance 

 as possible, but of course utterly unable to avoid making 

 some noise. Before we were within gunshot, however, 

 we could tell by the sounds that the bear had once again 

 started, making what is called a " walking bay." Clive 

 Metcalf, a finished bear-hunter, was speedily able to de- 

 termine what the bear's probable course would be, and 

 we stole through the cane until we came to a spot near 

 which he thought the quarry would pass. Then we 

 crouched down, I with my rifle at the ready. Nor did 

 we have long to wait. Peering through the thick-grow- 

 ing stalks I suddenly made out the dim outline of the 



