90 AT THE NORTH OF BEARCAMP WATER. 
It did not go straight towards that proud rock, 
but sought it by bending westward and then 
northward in a great bow. The peak, conse¬ 
quently, stood the other side of a vast hollow 
filled with tangled forest. It was near, and yet 
appeared unattainable. I thought of the winter 
day when I had climbed to this point over four 
feet of packed and frozen snow and seen the 
Chocorua horn, crusted with ice and flanked 
by mighty snowdrifts, hanging in the bright blue 
sky. Then, stimulated by the keen air, I had 
plunged into the hollow, crossed it, scaled its 
farther side on hands and knees, gained the foot 
of the peak, and finally won its slippery summit, 
no larger than my dining table; and lying there 
half freezing, had seen the snow-covered world 
from Casco Bay to the Green Mountains; Mo- 
nadnock to Dixville Notch. The sun of August 
did not encourage such exploits, and a dead bear 
lying hidden near us drew our thoughts away 
from the heights to the damp thicket close 
below. 
The bear-slayer was telling his story: “I was 
coming along here, sort of softly, thinking it 
was just the kind of place for a bear, when just 
as I got to this open ledge I heard a hustling 
round in that snarl of bushes. I stopped short 
and listened and peeped in. There was some¬ 
thing black and hairy rubbing round in the 
