IV A TCHING. 



433 



goes! Yes, I have seen them come earlier 

 than this. 



A while ago the wind was from the 

 North; now it's from everywhere, or from 

 nowhere. I shall need only one shot; but 

 I'll see that the other 3 cartridges fit the 

 chamber properly. 



Just as the last cartridge is taken from 

 the barrel, I rind myself standing erect, fac- 

 ing the West; ride cocked and almost to 

 the shoulder; with every nerve strained to 

 its uttermost tension. My whole soul goes 

 out in the direction from whence the sound 

 came. A wood mouse, nothing more. 

 What makes one draw such a long breath 

 after so short a period of concentrated 

 thought? Does one forget to breathe? 

 Perhaps. At such moments, forgetfulness 

 is, in a measure, due to over cautiousness. 



A few minutes later, I made the discovery 

 that my gun was as empty as a last year's 

 bird's nest, and the cartridge that should 

 have been in the chamber was carefully de- 

 posited in my vest pocket. (I do not wear 

 a belt.) I felt like — well, like loading my 

 gun with one of the cartridges and placing 

 the other 3 between my fingers, and this 

 I did with exceeding alacrity. 



The evening becomes chilly. I have 

 watched the shadows grow longer and 

 longer, until for want of room they have 

 softened into a deep, heavy gloom. How 

 is this? The dark object at the farther end 

 of the park, which I know is a stump, is 

 moving — just a little, but surely moving. 

 I remove the old Sharps from my shoulder. 

 for the third time. How annoying it is to 

 have a gun continually click-clicking, and 

 creeping no to your shoulder when you 

 want to think about something. 



The camp robbers and the magpie no 

 longer make their serial trips for bits of 

 meat to hide among the branches. The 

 pine squirrel has ceased his chatter. The 

 breeze — like the sun — has gone down; and 

 the day is holding its breath as it merges in- 

 to the night. How intense and oppressive 

 is the total absence of sound. The mind 

 abhors a silence, as nature does a vacuum. 



What's that? Nothing. 



My overtaxed imagination would have it 

 the tread of a grizzly; but it's only the beat- 

 ing of my own heart. The tread of a grizz- 

 ly is never heard, save in fiction 



A sharp crackling of brush to the East 

 at last puts an end to the painful stilli 

 and once more I am put to guessing. And 

 now all is still again. Then another sound, 

 uncertain and indistinct, but farther to the 

 right. The animal, whatever he may be, 

 is now near the edge of the precipice. 

 Without knowing why, I turn back, quick- 

 ly, in the direction of the park. I am not 

 conscious of having heard a sound, but the 

 eye goes direct to a dark object, dimly out- 

 lined, and a little beyond the North end of 

 the opening. 



The bear, no doubt. No nervous start 

 this time. No snatching of the rifle to the 

 shoulder. The nerves relax, and a calm 

 consciousness of impending danger, tem- 

 pered with a firm self reliance, takes pos- 

 session of me. This, in a measure, restores 

 both mind and muscle to their normal con- 

 dition. 



Strange, but that stump has moved from 

 where it was a few minutes ago. It is now 

 out in the park, and is still moving with an 

 odd, billowy sort of roll, toward the dead 

 horse. Occasionally it stops and rolls from 

 side to side, as if searching for something. 

 Then it moves on again. Now it is close to 

 the carcass. Again the butt of the old rifle 

 is pressing my shoulder, and my index fin- 

 ger is feeling for the trigger. The stump 

 has paused for an instant beside the carcass. 

 There is a roar, a column of fire and a 

 smell of burning powder. Then another 

 roar, as of some great beast in mortal ag- 

 ony; a growl, and a succession of guttural 

 sounds. Then all is quiet. 



By Jove! There are 2 dead horses, in- 

 stead of one! How is it I did not see the 

 other one before? No: as I live, one of 

 them is a grizzly; but he is so near the 

 same size as the horse it is net surprising, 

 after all, that I should have been deceived, 

 in this heavv twilight. 



" I saw the sweetest little hat down at 

 Gainesborough's you ever dreamed of. 

 John, and it was marked down to $25.99." 



" But you don't mean to sav you paid 

 that for it?" 



"Why, certainly not, John; I told the 

 clerk to charge it." 



