Volume XIII. 



RECREATION 



NOVEMBER, 1900. 

 G. 0. SHIELDS (COQUINA), Editor and Manager. 



Number 5« 



THE BEAR WAS SAFE. 



O F. LAMBERTSON. 



As I listened for a sound in the per- 

 fect stillness around me I became 

 aware of a feeling of nervousness, 

 trifling at first, but which later devel- 

 oped into a genuine chill. 



Before proceeding, let me set the 

 scene that you may understand my 

 position. Behold me up a tree, at n 

 p. m., with no habitation within 50 

 miles and my 2 companions 3 or 4 

 miles distant. 



We were a party of young fellows 

 canoeing through the waterways be- 

 tween Vermillion lake and the Rainy 

 lake country, with too much confi- 

 dence in our own ability and too little 

 money in our pockets to hire a guide. 

 One afternoon, while paddling up a 

 small stream that emptied into a lake 

 near our camp, we saw numerous 

 signs of moose and bear. It is natural 

 for every one with sporting proclivi- 

 ties to want to kill a bear and we were 

 not exceptions to the rule. We began 

 our arrangements for the slaughter of 

 Bruin by killing a bull moose for bait ; 

 and that is how I happened to be in 

 the tree. Of course I was not afraid 

 to stay on the ground. I climbed the 

 tree merely to be able to see over the 

 underbrush and obtain a good view of 

 the carcass. The increased gravity of 

 my nervous symptoms was caused by 

 the crackling of sticks, followed by 

 the appearance of a bear. My sudden 

 start — of surprise, shall I say? — dis- 

 lodged my rifle which I had laid 

 across 2 limbs. Of course it went to 

 the ground. The bear stopped a 

 moment, listened, and then went di- 

 rectly to the carcass of the moose. 



Giving a grunt of satisfaction over 

 his discovery, he immediately began 

 to invite an acute attack of dyspepsia 

 by overloading his stomach. 



A few minutes passed, and an old 

 she bear with 2 cubs joined in the 

 feast. More guests were likely to ap- 

 pear, and there I was separated from 

 my old partner, the Winchester, by 

 many feet of altitude. I must have 

 that gun, I mused; but how to get it? 

 Go down and get it, of course ! To be 

 candid I was afraid to go down after 

 it, and, afraid to stay in the tree with- 

 out it. Yet it would never do to let 

 the bears go without having a shot, 

 fired at them. What would my part- 

 ners say when t-iey found the moose 

 torn to pieces and no dead bear ? I 

 finally concluded, like Johnny, to get 

 my gun. I descended quietly and 

 slowly, grabbed my rifle and scram- 

 bled up the tree again faster than any 

 squirrel ever did, urged as I was by 

 the fancy that all 4 of the bears were 

 nipping at my legs. I had just re- 

 gained my position, when 1 caught a 

 glimpse of the last cub disappearing in 

 the underbrush. T risked a hasty shot ; 

 the limb I was sitting on broke, and 

 I knew nothing more until I was re- 

 stored to consciousness by about 6 

 fingers of old rye, poured down my 

 throat by one of my companions. 



From earl)' boyhood I had been a 

 great bear hunter — in my mind — 

 but my short vigil that night in a 

 Minnesota pine tree taught me the 

 difference between imagination and 

 reality. 



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