THE BLACK BEAR. 59 
back to us very much in need of water and overcome with the heat. 
On the marsh I met Quarterman and we went north again to a thick, 
high scrub where we hoped we might find the bear bayed. All the 
hounds had come back to us except Trip and Brown, and we did 
not know where they were or what direction they had taken. When 
Trip becomes tired he makes little noise. 
Just as we had about made up our minds that we had lost the bear 
IT heard Trip bark not two hundred yards from us, in some thick, 
high scrub. We went in on foot, leaving the horses on the edge of 
the marsh. We separated, keeping about fifty yards apart, although 
we, of course, could not see one another. Trip was obstinately 
silent and we could not locate the exact place where he was, but we 
were sure the bear was there somewhere, for if he had started off 
Trip would have made noise enough. After going a short distance 
through a most discouraging tangle of roots and bushes I heard 
Quarterman shout and the. a series of howls from Trip, that seemed 
to move rapidly south, and it did not need Quarterman’s yell of 
‘« He’s off to the south” to make me hurry back through the scrub 
to where I had left my horse, mount him, and gallop as hard as I 
could to the old trail. There I found Gale and Pat and several of 
the dogs. Gale, who was riding Quarterman’s horse, shouted to me 
that the bear had just crossed the trail going south, followed by 
Trip all alone. There was just a chance that I might head 
him off on a trail leading to the beach, about half a mile further 
south, so away I rode as fast as I could make ‘*@ld Bob” go 
over the rough trail. I feared I would be too late, but I made it 
just in time, for, as I turned into the cleared path at a gallop, I heard 
Trip’s voice close to me, and out of the scrub came’ the bear not 
thirty yards distant, but behind me, so that I had to turn half around 
in the saddle to fire. It was a snap shot, but I dropped him in his 
tracks with a bullet through the shoulder. He was up again, 
however, in an instant, Trip hanging to him bravely. To dismount 
and fire two more shots from the Winchester 45 — did not take long, 
and the bear lay dead, with Trip biting and tugging at his flanks. 
This bear was an old male; I weighed him carefully, and he tipped 
