242 BIG GAME OF NORTH AMERICA. 



struck, in the animal line, had a large aperture made, in ita 

 anatomy. Besides this, we each carried a Colt's Frontier 

 revolver (warranted to floor you every time) and murderous 

 looking bowies, for close quarters. Yes, we were out for 

 scalps. 



An ice-field is not a pleasant promenade; there is noth- 

 ing billiard-table-like in its surface, and what with climbing 

 'bergs and getting over crevasses in the best fashion pos- 

 sible — above all, the uncertain light — our progress was slow. 



Hello! That dog seems as excited as if he'd struck a 

 bone. What the deuce is up! Will says a Bear, and 

 adds: "I think we'd better go back to the ship; I-l-I'm 

 cold." 



"Nonsense," I say; " you'll have all the crew laughing 

 at you. Come on." 



Yes, it was a Bear, standing back on an enormous 

 'berg, and striking out at the yelping pack that surrounded 

 him with his awful-looking paws — a great yellow brute, 

 with discolored fangs and cavernous mouth, from which 

 issued clouds of steam-like vapor. I too wished I were at 

 home. 



" W-W-W-W-Will, are you ready ?" I managed to ask. 



" W-w-w-wait till I get off my g-g-glove; d — n it." 



"What's the matter?" 



"I've blistered my fingers on the trigger-guard." 



"Any man," I said, with withering sarcasm, "who 

 doesn't know enough not to touch iron when it's forty-five 

 below zero, without a glove on, isn't qualified to pound 

 sand." 



He withered under my cutting words, and tried to brace 

 up for the impending ordeal. 



I looked at the Bear. There he still stood, and I thought 

 it strange, for I'd given him lots of time to get away. There 

 was nothing for it but to fire now. Will's eye was on me, 

 and he was laying low to get even. I knelt down and aimed 

 carefully, my companion doing likewise. It's a mighty 

 different thing shooting at a target and drawing a bead on 

 a Bear that can just claw you to pieces and eat you after- 



