34° 



R EC RE A TION. 



somewhat carelessly with my rifle lying 

 across my pommel, when with the sud- 

 denness of a rifle-shot the bear broke 

 cover and charged. With glaring eye- 

 balls and wide-distended jaws he came 

 lumbering after me. 



The sport had suddenly changed 

 ends, " reversed battery," as it were. I 

 had been the hunter; I was now the 

 hunted, and I assure you the " p'int of 

 view " was widely different. Rifles 

 were turned down, spurs were trumps, 

 and I was playing it alone, with a de- 

 cided euchre in plain sight. 



The pony's legs were short, the 

 brush was tall, and Bruin was awful 

 close! Yes and getting closer, with a 

 strong desire for meat, and no great 

 choice between the pony's and mine. 

 I had often, as a boy, wished for wings, 

 but never with such fervor as just then. 

 My eyes bulged out till I could see past 

 my ears looking backward; and that 

 beast was gaining, gaining, gaining. 

 But what more could I do than I was 



already doing? And the pony actually 

 seemed to be running backward, so 

 rapidly did Eph. overhaul us. 



Poor pony! He knew Death was 

 on our trail and " cluss up " like the 

 blacksmith's wife's leg, but he was do- 

 ing his best, his dying best. 



After 200 yards of this sprinting, 

 Bruin gathered all his energies into one 

 mighty leap, and swung that fearful 

 right for pony's rump. The instant 

 lost in the swing saved us. Like the 

 witch at Kirk Alloway, in her clutch 

 for Tarn o'Shanter's mare, he missed. 



The force of the hook turned the 

 bear down the hillside. I checked the 

 pony and sent my remonstrances from 

 the Winchester after him — ineffectu- 

 ally. The pony was panting heavily 

 and I was excited. 



The old fellow then made off, and I 

 again pursued. Twice I shot, but at 

 long range, and unsuccessfully. At 

 last I abandoned the quest and con- 

 cluded to go for birds again. 



"THAT STICK HURTS, BUT I CAN'T HELP IT. 

 I'VE GOT TO SAVE THESE BIRDS." 



