A Bear Hunt in Montana 



of a mother grizzly, and near her the 

 doctor's Mauser rifle, cast aside and 

 empty. All was plain now. In his ex- 

 citement Dr Penrose had not noted that 

 the bear which his first three shots had so 

 promptly slain was yet a young cub, 

 whose grief-stricken and enraged mother 

 might then be making her way from the 

 rocks and brush to avenge the death of 

 her offspring. Going down to examine 

 his prize, he placed his rifle on a rock, 

 fortunately not far away. 



He was stooping over the dead cub 

 when there came from behind him a rush 

 and an awful cry. He turned and saw 

 the mother bear coming upon him, then 

 not sixty feet away. With almost super- 

 human presence of mind Dr Penrose 

 caught up his Mauser again and fired two 

 shots into the enraged beast. Instantly 

 he took from his pocket his last remaining 

 cartridge, worked it into the rifle, and sent 

 a third steel- jacketed bullet into the on- 

 rushing bear. Swift and sure as were the 

 little bullets, the bear's fury was not 

 checked in time. With one stroke of her 

 paw she sent him into the gulch, eight 

 feet below. She sprang down after him 

 and caught him in her mouth and shook 

 him as a cat might shake a mouse. She 

 dropped him. Again she caught him up, 

 his face between her glistening tusks. 

 She tore his scalp ; his eyes narrowly es- 

 caped: A tusk penetrated into his mouth 

 from the side of his cheek ; another tore 

 open his throat. There were five gaping 

 wounds in his chest. His thigh bore an 

 awful, irregular tear, and the flesh hung 

 in ragged pieces from the wound, half as 

 wide as your hand. His left wrist was 

 twisted and broken, and the bones stuck 

 out through the quivering flesh. The bear 

 tried once more to shake her half-dead 

 victim, but she sickened with her own 

 awful wounds, and, staggering, fell dead 

 at his feet. 



The little Mauser bullets, fired a mo- 

 ment before, had finally had their deadly 

 effect, and by his steady nerve and ac- 

 curate aim Dr Penrose had saved his own 

 life. Had the beast lasted another half 

 minute the doctor would have been with 

 his fathers, and the little cub's death 

 would have been avenged. But the heroic 



mother had fought to the last, and now, 

 with her dead baby, lay quiet and still 

 forever. 



Recovering sufficiently, the bleeding 

 man sat up and began to take stock. As 

 he meditated thus, there came a new ad- 

 versary. In actual fact, or in the suffer- 

 ing man's delirous fancy — I have never 

 known which — a third bear bounded out 

 of the brush from another direction. The 

 doctor's heart sank ; he could make no 

 resistance now ; he hoped that death 

 might come quickly. The new enemy 

 approached to close quarters, and, walk- 

 ing around, snarled and growled sav- 

 agely, yet was evidently undecided what 

 to do. Then, with a cry of mingled rage 

 and fright, it dashed off down the gulch 

 and was lost in the forest. 



The journey back to camp was diffi- 

 cult and dangerous, but the suffering doc- 

 tor, who now began to realize his fright- 

 ful condition, was bearing up bravely. 

 Wrapping my big cow-boy slicker around 

 him, I managed to get him on my horse, 

 and we turned back to the camp, whert 

 we had left the Penrose party. My faith- 

 ful horse did his duty nobly, as we 

 climbed and stumbled along for two 

 hours without a trail, at last reaching the 

 teepees at nightfall. The unexpected 

 sight of the wounded and bleeding doctor 

 somewhat demoralized the group of wait- 

 ing men, and after some delay a pine- 

 knot camp-fire was made for light, and 

 with the patient lying at full length on the 

 ground I began my surgical operations, 

 assisted by such much-needed instruction 

 as the doctor, in his awful pain, could 

 give me while the work progressed. I 

 applied antiseptics and placed bandages, 

 all of which happily he had with him in a 

 small emergency case. Finally the broken 

 wrist was reached. It was agreed that I 

 should remove the protruding bones, the 

 nervy patient thinking he could endure 

 the pain of the operation without anes- 

 thetics. I disinfected the little knives and 

 appliances and the last operation began. 

 The pain was awful. With one agonized 

 groan the man gave up for the first time. 

 We held a hurried conference. The wrist 

 would have to be left as it was, and we 

 bound it up once more in signal cloth. It 



