446 TRUTH, POETRY, AND DELICACY OF EXPRESSION. 
pursuer. “He’s got two ounce-balls through him, — one 
through his heart, the other through his brain. How 
can he hold out long ? Look hero at the great clots of 
blood that bur-st from him as he jumped this log! How 
long can he live now?" He pointed to the large, water- 
lil3"-likc leaf of an arctic plant, whose polished and con- 
cave .surface contained probably a gill of hardening 
blood. “Look at that," ho continued, “and tell me 
that it’s no use to follow him. I’m only waiting to net 
mv brcatli ascain/’ 
“ Olij you jackass!” replied the breathless doctor, as 
he gained our stopping-place. '-Suppose that bear had 
hugged you : where would you have been now?” 
"There’s more truth than cither poetry or delicacy of 
expression in your salutation, doctor,” said the now 
rational and reviving Nimrod. "I believe I was a jack- 
ass up to the last moment: it wouldn’t have done to have 
held on to him any longer, I don't think.'' 
“Oh, by George ! — what a climb!” gasped exhausted 
Williams, as he staggered against a tree and threw down 
his gun in the rank undergrowdh at his feet. “Wliy 
couldn't I hit him ? What miserable luck!” 
“Yes, you may well ask that,” said the disappointed 
voice of the irritated pursuer. “Why didn’t you give 
your gun to the doctor if you couldn’t shoot yourself ? 
You talk about hunting bear!” 
“Everybody can miss sometimes, I suppose,” retorted 
the chagrined hunter. “Ihw fired from a rest, and 
while he was standing still: anybody could have done 
that" 
Here the discussion was interrupted by the arrival of 
