Tim 
The Nixon swamp lay about a half mile to the 
northwest of Tim Coleman’s new home, and was 
as dense and forbidding in appearance as when 
the first white man looked upon its gloomy 
depths. More than a mile in length, and about 
half a mile in width, the#swamp lay between the 
oak openings on its south border and the lower 
and heavier timber land to the north. Appear¬ 
ance indicated that the bed of the swamp had, 
in some of nature’s convulsions, sunk below the 
surrounding country, for the banks were abrupt, 
and the surface of the water, which surrounded 
the outer edge of the swamp like a moat, lay 
twenty feet or more below the surface of wood¬ 
land or field on the border. 
The interior of the swamp was higher than the 
outer edge, and there were islands which rose 
high and dry above their watery surroundings. 
The timber of the swamp in the low, wet ground 
was tamarack, with swales of black ash and alder 
and dense thickets of huckleberry brush growing 
from the spongy moss-covered soil. On the 
higher ground elm, soft maple, basswood, syca¬ 
more and swamp oak, reared gigantic trunks to 
the sky. 
Towering above the remains of the fallen mon- 
archs of the forest, whose trunks had been sapped 
to downfall by age and decay, the vigorous 
growth of the swamp awaited its doom at the 
hands of deadlier and more implacable foes, the 
narrow axe and the devouring flame of the hus¬ 
bandman. 
When the first settlers came into the country 
the swamp sheltered within its borders those 
denizens of the primeval forest which prey upon 
the lesser and weaker creatures of the wilderness. 
The bear, grim and forbidding, here made its 
den and brought forth its young. The wolf, in 
the heart of the swamp, retreated at daybreak 
to its lair, emerging at nightfall and sending forth 
its long-drawn call to assemble the pack for the 
hunt. Here the panther prowled with silent tread 
or lay in wait for its prey. The lynx and wild¬ 
cat threaded the gloomy aisles of the swamp on 
silent foot, and searched .its borders for their 
kill. But all these had disappeared before the 
rifle and ax of the settler, save the old bear of 
evil fame, who survived the fate of his neigh¬ 
bors. He would neither flee nor fall; neither 
would he leave his home in the swamp, where he 
was born and reared, for the quieter and less 
hunted range of the big woods to the north of 
the settlement. Contact with man taught the 
bear the danger of his environment, and he ac¬ 
quired the cunning to hold his own against the 
ever-encroaching peril of the ax and rifle. When 
a young bear he was inclined to measure strength 
rather than wits against man, and when Jesse 
Sharp found the bear climbing the wall of his 
hog pen and assailed him with a stout club, the 
handiest weapon which could be brought into 
service in time to prevent the catastrophe of the 
loss of the family supply of pork, bruin charged 
Jesse with open mouth and uplifted paw. 
FOREST 
cm.'t ! ■ T 
AND STREAM 
fV 
475 
B 
ear 
Coleman’s 
By C. A. Bryant. 
(Concluded from March 28 .) 
Whereupon the latter retreated to the house, 
seized the big-bored duck gun, brought from the 
seacoast when its owner emigrated westward, 
and as the bear emerged from the pen bearing 
the spoil of conflict, a fine fat pig, Jesse turned 
his artillery on the enemy with such effect that 
the bear, his hide filled with BB shot, took to his 
heels, and the pig, the innocent cause of the 
conflict, gave up the ghost and was domiciled in 
the family pork barrel, a few weeks earlier than 
the fates had originally decreed. 
Hi Martin, one of the famous hunters of a 
neighborhood where everyone hunted, either for 
business, pleasure or “a mess to eat,” came upon 
the Nixon swamp bear once, when fate had, ap¬ 
parently, delivered the sable scourge of the com¬ 
munity into the hands of the enemy. 
Telling his friend and hunting companion, 
James Bryson, of the occurrence, when Martin’s 
mother, known to all as “Granny Martin,” was 
Tim’s New Cabin. 
an interested and a critical listener, Hi said: 
“I found where the bear had been eatin’ a calf 
that he killed on Doty’s place, beyond .Deacon 
Campbell’s, and was goin’ over there to watch 
for- him when he come back. I was just goin’ 
’long that ridge on the back end of Campbell’s 
north forty, where they ain’t much big timber, 
just a few small-oaks and juniper bushes, and I 
run right square on to the bear eatin’ winter- 
green berries. He wa’nt three rod off, but he 
jumped and run like a rabbit, only he never 
dodged nothin.’ but the trees. He smashed 
through the junipers like a hoss, but I got a bead 
on him mighty quick, right on the slope of his 
back, and calculated to break him down the first 
crack. Well, sir, he was wallopin’ ’round and 
gettin’ over the ground like a race hoss, and I 
was a little excited, and instead of hittin’ the 
beggar in the back I shot him through the hip. 
It knocked him down, but he was on his feet 
again like a flash, and put out for the swamp. 
I loaded fast as I ever did in my life, but before 
I got the cap on he was into the swamp and 
gone.” 
“Hur! I guess if yer father hed been arfter 
thet bear I wouldn’t be listenin’ to no sich tale; 
I’d be tryin’ out his fat,” Granny Martin said, 
as she hunted for her pipe in the depth of the 
pocket in her woolen apron. 
As prophesied by the neighbors, the Colemans 
soon received a visit from the bear. James Bry¬ 
son, hunting nearby in the days of early autumn, 
killed a deer near the Coleman domicile, and 
being a generous man, as most hunters are, left 
half the carcass to help fill the larder of'the lat¬ 
est addition to the community. , 
The venison was hung on the corner of, the 
new log house, high out of reach from the 
ground, and for a day or two the family feasted 
on deer meat. Tim Coleman had taken a job 
logging up a clearing for a neighbor, and the en¬ 
tire family was pressed into service. Tim and 
the oxen snaked and rolled the logs into heaps, 
Julia Coleman and the children piled brush and 
roots, and soon the pungent incense of the sacri¬ 
fice of the forest to the wants of man rose in 
blue clouds from the clearing. 
The September sun had sunk behind the tall 
oaks to the west, and the evening shadows were 
fast lengthening, when the Colemans came in 
sight of their new home, deserted for the day, 
but a welcome sight at evening. 
The brindle oxen were plodding ahead of the 
family, quickening their slow gait when they 
came in sight of shed and haystack, and Trip, 
who had been besieging a woodchuck in a hollow 
log, came dashing after the family, and with the 
children raced down the road toward the house. 
The dog came running back, hair and ears erect, 
and growling fiercely. The oxen stopped short, 
gazed toward the house and then started on a 
trot down the road, and Henry Coleman, who 
was ahead, came flying toward his father and 
yelling at the top of his voice, “A bear! A bear! 
He’s stealin'our meat! Sick ’im, Trip! Sick’im!” 
Encouraged by the voice of his young master, 
Trip shot into the timber in pursuit of the enemy, 
_whp. was fa$t disappearing in the uncertain light 
of evening into the shades of the forest. 
As the bear reached the newly-laid rail fence 
that marked the, boundary of the. barn lot, Trip, 
with more valor than discretion,'flew at him with 
the same tactics of approach as employed in the 
ejection of a trespassing cow or pig from the 
house yard precincts, heralding his coming with 
loud barks of disapproval, reached the bear as it 
attempted to climb the fence with its booty, and 
seized the sable marauder by c the ham. Thus at¬ 
tacked in the rear the bear wheeled to face the 
assault, and Trip, hanging to his hold, was 
thrown against the fence by this change of base 
with sufficient force to break his grip. Nothing 
daunted, the little dog again flew at the bear 
and tried to seize him by the ear, but a black 
paw shot out with flash-like celerity, smote Trip 
full in the side and hurled him, a limp and 
howling mass, twenty feet away. 
When the oxen, alarmed by the bear, started 
