MY LAST BEAR. 89 



talked and yarned far into the night, long after the 

 evening star had sunk beneath the hill ; and rolling our- 

 selves up in our rugs, we slept the sleep of the free 

 from society and cares. 



Next morning we were up with the lark (heads 

 were none the worse), and bathed in the brooklet. 

 After breakfast we made a start, leaving the old squaw 

 and her boss behind us to take care of camp. First 

 of all we knocked over a few of the pheasants with 

 our rifles for our dinner and left them behind us. The 

 colonel took the bottoms, and I the hills, but I only got 

 three deer and the colonel got two more and a shot at 

 an elk, — as he said. I was armed with a W. R. carbine, 

 and the colonel with a heavy western rifle about 141b. 

 weight, and with a bullet the size of a large pea. At 

 anything over one hundred and fifty yards I could beat 

 him easily, but at forty rods, like California whiskey, his 

 piece meant " dead meat.^^ He frequently took the 

 head ofi" a bird at twenty-five paces, and a half-dollar at 

 thirty yards was struck every time ; but then he was a 

 powerful man and his rifle was furnished with a hair- 

 trigger. We returned to camp rather disgusted, and 

 amused ourselves by shooting at marks, and I took great 

 interest in seeing the old squaw making bread. Perhaps 

 the hint may be useful ; anyhow here it is. Over night 

 she hung up a mustard tin half full of flour and water, 

 and let it ferment till next afternoon. About a half tea- 

 cup full of this she poured into a tin pan full of 

 flour, with a httle salt in it, and mixed and stirred it up 

 well. Meanwhile her amiable spouse had dug a large 

 hole in the ground, and filled it with lighted sticks which 

 were allowed to burn out ; then more sticks were put on, 

 and so on till the whole was full of embers. The dough 



