A PENOBSCOT BEAR. 



P. P. BEAL. 



In November, '91, I had finished an 

 arduous term at the academy in Lee, Me., 

 and was about to return home for the holi- 

 days. As I wished to take some venison 

 home with me, I engaged Horace Cush- 

 man, a well-known guide, to pilot me on 

 a short cruise into the surrounding game 

 regions. 



Early one morning we started for the 

 Old Corry Farm, 5 or 6 miles back in the 

 forest. Cushman carried an old Sharps 

 45-105 rifle, a regular cannon in weight 

 and effectiveness. Its owner told many 

 interesting stories of its past perform- 

 ances. One of these, which I remember 

 severely taxed my credulity at the time, 

 recounted the killing of 3 caribou with 

 one bullet from the old gun. They 

 chanced to be standing in such a position 

 that the ball passed through 2 and entered 

 the thiH. Strangest of all, but one ani- 

 mal was seen when the shot was fired. 

 My own gun was a Winchester Repeater, 

 38-56, in which I placed great confidence. 



We tramped briskly over the frozen 

 ground toward the farm. Once we stop- 

 ped to test our sights by a few shots at 

 an old jackknife. On our way we flushed 

 2 grouse. Cushman located one of them 

 in a cedar and dropped it with his re- 

 volver. No meat ever tasted so sweet 

 and juicy as that when broiled or a stick 

 at noon. 



Not long after this we came to a cedar 

 swamp and several windfalls. One of 

 these showed the path of a veritable cy- 

 clone, a thing extremely rare in Maine. 

 There was a clean cut path, 2 or 3 rods 

 wide, through the heavy hard wood 

 growth for miles. Giant yellow birches 

 and maples were piled in an almost insur- 

 mountable barrier. The width of the 

 swath was clearly defined and great 



branches were torn from the sides of trees 

 along its course. This storm had evi- 

 dently occurred the previous summer, as 

 full grown leaves still clung to the pros- 

 trate branches. 



Beside finding an occasional "bear 

 stump" or getting a sniff of a deer, which 

 my guide affirmed he could detect at quite 

 a distance, we had no excitement that day. 

 Toward evening we reached the lumber 

 camp where Cushman had planned we 

 should stay. The following day we 

 scoured the country about Third lake 

 finding but few deer signs. 



On the second day, however, as we were 

 returning to camp after a long and fruit- 

 less hunt, we were startled by a crashing 

 of twigs and dry leaves at some distance 

 ahead, and caught a glimpse of 3 deer 

 disappearing over the ridge. Hardly had 

 the leaves in their course ceased flutter- 

 ing when, from the same spot another 

 animal bounded into view and dashed 

 on a dead run in the opposite direction. 



Quick as thought my guide threw his 

 rifle to his face and fired. I had hardly 

 made up my mind that it was really a 

 bear, when the heavy ball caught it, and 

 down it went, with a yelp of pain. It 

 seemed impossible that any man could 

 hfeve hit that jumping, bobbing thing 

 amid the heavy timber and fully 150 

 yards away. The next instant the bear 

 had regained his feet, but a few more shots 

 at shorter range finished him. 



It was all we both could do to lift the 

 bear. It must have weighed at least 350 

 pounds. We got a man from camp to help 

 carry it to an old barn, where it remained 

 a few days while we continued our deer 

 hunt. Luck was against us, however, and 

 we had to be content with bear steak. 



THE DUCK HUNTERS CALENDAR 



FRANK C. RIEHL. 



When the wind is in the West, 



Ducks are apt to fly the best; 

 When the wind is in the East, 



Ducks are prone to fly the least; 

 When the wind is in the South, 



Nimrods guard the river's mouth; 

 When the wind is in the north, 



Every pot shot sallies forth. 

 355 



