THE REFERENDUM 



467 



your throat." I didn't care if all Creation 

 knew that I had a lump in my throat. Hunt- 

 ing bear was serious business just then, and I 

 did not feel like having fun poked at me. 



We arrived at the trap early the next 

 morning. How things had changed ! The trap 

 was gone, logs were scattered, the ground 

 dug up, hazel brush scarred ; in fact, the sur- 

 roundings indicated that a miniature cyclone 

 had visited the quiet place. The drag that 

 was fastened to the trap had made a plain 

 trail which we might have followed, but 

 we did not feel so disposed. A bear in the 

 trap ! The marks made by the fleeing ani- 

 mal as he forged his way through the small 

 undergrowth demonstrated bruin's ability to 

 move at break-neck speed, even when seri- 

 ously handicapped. 



Fancy played havoc with my imagination. 

 As we sneaked homeward I could almost 

 hear the charging bear and clanking chain at 

 our heels. A large white tablecloth was used 

 as a signal, and was fastened in the top of a 

 snag, far up on the mountain side, to notify 

 the neighbors that bruin was caught. 



I was denied the privilege of observing the 

 last act of the bear episode. Heart-broken, I 

 wearily trudged away to school that morning, 

 feeling friendless and in everybody's way. 

 Fairy fingers flickered imprinted pages of 

 lost opportunities before my eyes that shut 

 out every lesson of the day. 



From the schoolhouse window I could see 

 the crowd gathering down by the alder 

 branch at the corner of the field. Every man 

 brought a gun and a dog or two to train on 

 the unfortunate beast. The hunters returned 

 disappointed, only bringing two claws that 

 bruin had left in the trap as the price of his 

 liberty. 



About the middle of March of the follow- 

 ing year I was introduced to Mrs. Bruin and 

 her family. A friend permitted his boy and 

 I to go with him on a hunting trip, and the 

 beauty of it was that we were to camp out 

 a few nights. I carried my father's ancient- 

 looking muzzle-loading rifle, with which I 

 was to bag my portion of the game. We 

 hunted several days, but had very little suc- 

 cess, so decided to take some provisions and 

 a blanket for each and go further into the 

 mountains. This was a new and novel ex- 

 perience for a boy of eleven years, and I 

 thoroughly enjoyed the Daniel Boone fashion 

 of camping out. 



Dawning morning came chilly and raw, but 

 the azure sky assured a fair day. Coffee, 

 bread and bacon for breakfast. Only a boy 

 can fully appreciate such common fare, and 

 especially when fa from home and unable 

 to steal into the pantry and surprise the pies 

 and cakes. 



Some kind of a vicious animal was soon lo- 

 cated by my friend in a fir tree that had a 



cavity at the ground, between where two 

 roots reached out from the tree. The en- 

 trance was partly filled in and there was no 

 sign that any animal had used it at all during 

 the winter. A deer trail followed along the 

 hillside, just above the tree, and their hoofs 

 worked the dirt into the hole as they fre- 

 quently passed along. The dog that my friend 

 had with him poked his nose into the hole to 

 see if anything belonged there. 



His face was either cuffed or bitten, for he 

 retreated in disorder and showed no desire 

 to continue the exploration. 



It was easy to decide that the senior hunter 

 should remain and stand guard over the con- 

 cealed game while the juniors went for an 

 axe. The gnashing of teeth and growling that 

 emanated from the den was enough to make 

 we boys unwilling to face the mysterious 

 beast. We hurried to camp and secured an 

 axe, returning as quickly as possible, which 

 was unusual for us, but we were anxious to 

 find out the manner of beast housed in the 

 butt of that tree. 



During our absence the sentry filled the 

 entrance with chunks and rocks. He ex- 

 plained that he had read of bears hibernating 

 through the winter, and that he believed one 

 had made his den in that hollow tree. There 

 was but one way to get at it without danger. 

 So we proceeded to chop a hole in the side of 

 the tree just above the entrance to the den, 

 which promised to be a hard task, but the 

 tree proved to be a mere shell, and we soon 

 cut a hole into the cavity. As the last big 

 chip fell into the den, leaving an opening 

 about the size of a wash pan, a she bear 

 shoved her nose out, the dog grabbed her, 

 but hastily let go, and complained not a lit- 

 tle about the severe usage. The old bear 

 growled and bluffed, but we were not afraid 

 so long as we were on the safe side. As the 

 hole was cut larger, the bear protested every 

 lick of the chopper's ax. 



Finally she came up to the opening and 

 kept poking her nose out. That performance 

 frightened me, especially when her teeth were 

 exhibited and she uttered that whoof-whoof 

 at us. 



She was a medium-sized black bear, and 

 after she was killed we discovered two cubs 

 in the den. One weighed 4^ pounds and the 

 other only 4 pounds. The larger cub was a 

 rich jet black, but the other was a brownish 

 black. The quaint-looking little creatures, 

 whose heads were their most conspicuous 

 parts, were provided with a home by my 

 friend. 



That bear was a revelation to me and quite 

 different from the - descriptions I had heard. 

 The smooth coat of long, glossy black hair, 

 richly filled with black velvety fur that was 

 evenly distributed over the entire pelt, would 

 have made a valuable trophy. When stripped 



