172 AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING. 
felt like giving up, when Ephraim stopped all of a sud- 
den as if he were shot. I ran a little further and then 
looked round, and what should I see but the old fellow 
drinking from the bottle of whiskey which had fallen out 
of my pocket while I was skedaddling. ‘That whiskey will 
be your ruin, old fellow,’ said I, as I lifted my rifle and 
fired. The next thing I saw was the grizzly falling stone 
dead, with the bottle in his paws. I went up to him and 
found I had put the bullet through his eye into the brain. 
I took off his skin, but left the carcass behind, as grizzly 
steak is rather tough eating. But for that whiskey, old 
Ephraim would have killed me sure, for I couldn’t have 
got away from him. I sold his skin afterwards for 
fifty dollars to a fellow who wanted it in order to boast 
that he had killed the bear himself; so you see that 
whiskey brings a man good luck sometimes, and even 
saves his life.” 
“«That’s the toughest bear story I ever heard,” whis- 
pered a companion to me. ‘‘I might believe it, were it 
not for the grizzly stopping to drink the whiskey. It 
will do for a yarn, anyhow.” 
We were tramping through the forest while he was 
relating this tale, and though we were listenmg to him 
with deep interest, our eyes were peering in every direc- 
tion for signs of game of any kind. We met nothing 
worthy of our attention until we reached a part where 
several trees had been burned down by recent fires, 
and there we saw a brood of ruffed grouse which were 
taking a dust-bath in the ashes of a burned stump. 
They allowed us to approach them within a distance of 
thirty yards before they took to the wing, and this 
gave a companion and myself, who carried shot-guns, an 
opportunity to score with both our barrels. The one 
that I hit with the right barrel fell dead, but the other 
flew into a tree and remained there unt:! I brought it down 
with another shot. The remainder of the brood flew 
