558 
was up, Dan and I were to move on, 
stalking low. Thus we would approach 
the patch from both sides and give the 
bear no chance to escape, except up 
the steep wall of the cafion, unless he 
chose to attack us. 
“Remember Reel-Paw is no ord’nary 
bear,” cautioned Billy, when he left us. 
“Make sure of ev’ry shot; and don’t 
let him get too clost.” 
When the hour was up, we started 
briskly down the cafion. The wind was 
toward us, and we had no fear of the 
bear catching the scent. Finally we 
came in sight of the wall of serpentine 
that arose sheer on each side of the 
cafion. Billy had told us the big bear’s 
feeding grounds were at the base of 
that precipice. ~ 
We dropped lower and _ crawled, 
sneaking over the half-melted snow 
with our noses close to the trail and 
using every available rock and bush to 
screen our approach. For over an 
hour we dragged our bodies through 
the slush, till every thread of our 
clothing was water-soaked. But we 
cared not for that. The spirit of the 
chase had entered us, and we thought 
only of the game. 
At last we reached a knoll, topped 
with cinnamon. We crawled up to this 
and lifted our heads for a peep. There 
they were—a whole drove of them— 
three blacks, a brown and two cinna- 
mons. And over the drove towered a 
huge black monster, shambling uneasily 
to and fro, sniffing keenly with his 
pointed nose as if apprehensive of im- 
pending danger, and crunching the 
mast nuts between his jaws as he 
trotted back and forth. 
“It’s Reel-Paw!” we both cceluinied: 
We raised our rifles, but at that mo- 
ment two shots came in quick succes- 
sion from the other side, and we knew 
they were from Billy’s old .44-40. 
“Woof! woof! woof!” ‘snorted the 
drove, as they crashed madly through 
the undergrowth, passing us like the 
wind. To the eye on the rifle sight, 
each bear was a blurred streak of black 
or brown or yellow swiftly drawn 
RECREATION 
through the brush. But we let drive, 
and brought down a cinnamon. 
On the farther border of the acorn 
patch, and fully two hundred yards 
away, we saw the huge black monster 
lumber swiftly off up the cafion, his 
heavy coat of fur glistening on his 
round barrel like much-rubbed seal- 
skin. Instead of following the main 
drove, he turned and bore down upon 
Billy. We finished off the cinnamon, 
which was squalling hideously, and 
made shift to refill the magazines of 
our rifles as we ran toward the trapper. 
We saw the white hair and beard of 
old Billy appear above the growth; he 
arose and stood unflinchingly in the 
trail. Reel-Paw advanced on his hind 
legs, opening and snapping his jaws, 
and grotesquely rubbing his face with 
his paws. Even from where we were, 
we could discern the deformity of his 
foot. “Slam it to him!” we yelled in 
chorus. 
We had small fear for old Billy. We 
were confident he would bring the bear 
down with one shot. So we were hor- 
rified when we saw the big brute rush 
forward with a roar of rage, after the 
trapper had fired into his face. Billy 
got in a second shot, but it accomplished 
no more than the first, and before he 
could fire a third the bear was upon 
him, had wrested the rifle from him 
and swung it, with the strength of a 
Titan, against the trunk of a hemlock. 
Billy was old, but he had not lost the 
agility of youth, especially at a time of 
such emergency. He dodged quickly 
to one side and scampered across the 
cafion, drawing his long hunting knife 
as he ran. There was a narrow slit or 
crevice in the serpentine wall, and he 
backed into this. It was too narrow 
for the bear to enter, but not so nar- 
row or deep that he could not strike 
into it with his paws, despite the ugly 
slashing of the long hunting knife. 
Dan and I threshed our way through 
the brush to the old hunter’s assistance, 
and on the way I fell and falling dis- 
charged my rifle. 
cafion, Dan the right, and in this way 
I took the left of the” 

