650 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[April 24, 1909. 
said Lincoln, after listening to the plan, “you 
had better get torches and hurry back as' soon 
as possible, though I think the bear is already 
out. As soon as he found you wanted to keep 
him in, I have no doubt he made quick work 
with your dead trees.” 
The majority of the party, however, had faith 
in the barricade, and all were tired by the day’s 
tramp, so it was decided to wait until morning. 
With the first rays of daylight.we were off, 
and as the snow was hard and bore us well, half 
an hour’s walk brought us to the den of the 
bear, but we found no bear. The trees had been 
thrown out with apparent ease, for from the 
tracks which led away we found that the bear 
had made his escape the previous night before 
the snow had become hardened. One thing, 
however, encouraged us in the hope of yet 
capturing him. His every step was marked 
with blood, showing that he had injured his 
feet, and as they would naturally be very tender 
after his winter’s sleep, we concluded he would 
not travel rapidly nor far. The vote was 
unanimous to “run him down.” Returning to 
the camp for provisions and snowshoes, we 
again struck the trail and the chase commenced. 
For several hours the surface of the snow re¬ 
mained hard and we got over the ground 
rapidly. Then we were led into a large alder 
and balsam swamp and had to resort to the 
snowshoes, but as we were all familiar with 
this mode of traveling, we made good progress, 
and soon came to a spot nearly free from snow, 
where our bear had dug in the soft ground for 
roots. An hour later we were startled by a 
whistle and loud snort, and the bear—a large, 
ragged-looking fellow—sprang from beneath the 
top of a fallen tree, where he had probably 
been dozing, and disappeared in a spruce 
thicket. This was an earlier start than we had 
expected, and we were elated. 
“That bear don’t look particularly fat,” said 
Jesse, “but what meat there is ought to be 
tender. Anyhow, I’m going to try a steak for 
supper.” 
“The skin will make a nice cover for our 
sofa,” remarked Wildair. Our sofa, it must 
be known, was a pet creation of the last speaker 
—the trunk of a tree, roughly hewn on the 
upper side, supported by blocks of wood, and 
which the more irreverent called a bench. 
“I have seen pretty ornaments made of the 
teeth and the claws,” said the Corporal. “I be¬ 
lieve I have promised some to a fair cousin of 
mine.” 
I mildly hinted that perhaps the bear would 
like a voice in the disposition of his remains, 
but was promptly silenced. 
“That bear,” said Rattler, “has eaten his 
last mutton. See how he slumps. In less than 
an hour you’ll see him up a tree.” 
It really looked as if Rattler was right. It 
was then nearly noon, and the rays of the sun 
had an almost midsummer heat—a peculiarity 
of mountainous regions. The snow, which the 
chill air of the night had made solid, was soft 
and spongy, and in the black timber—spruces, 
hemlocks and other evergreens—the bear at 
every step sank to his body. This would not 
do, and he knew it, for he struck for the light 
timber, where the snow, being less protected, 
had frozen harder. For hours the race was 
eager and doubtful. At times we would get a 
distant view of our game as he climbed a hill¬ 
side, but he took good care not to let us get 
within rifle range. A few shots were fired, 
“just to stir him up,” when he would stop and 
look at us for a moment, as if uncertain whether 
or not to resent the insult, and then lope off in 
the most unconcerned manner. 
As night came on the snow began to harden 
again, which was decidedly in favor of the bear, 
and the most hopeful of the party had to admit 
that we could not have bear for supper. A 
camping place was selected in a thicket which 
would protect us from the wind which we could 
hear roaring on the hilltops, a pile of logs col¬ 
lected, and on one side of it the snow was 
thickly covered with boughs. Then our pro¬ 
visions were unpacked, for so close had been 
the chase through the day that only a light 
lunch had been taken, and that as we walked. 
“That bear,” said Jesse as he toasted a piece 
of pork on the end of a birch stick, “won’t go 
a dozen rods after he finds we have pulled up. 
He’ll drop on the first comfortable spot he 
finds, for he’s about played out.” 
“And his paws are bleeding again,” said 
Wildair. 
“The last sight I had of him he was reeling 
like a drunken man,” added Rattler. 
“We’ll have him by to-morrow noon,” as¬ 
serted the Corporal. 
“Before that time, if it doesn’t freeze too 
hard,” replied Rattler. 
That night in iny dreams things got mixed 
somewhat. Instead of chasing the bear, the 
bear seemed to be chasing me, and hard work 
I had to keep ahead of him. I awoke feeling 
little rested, and I thought the Corporal, too, 
acted as though he was rather stiff, but he 
laughed at the idea. 
How the bear knew when we broke camp in 
the morning I cannot tell, but we had not gone 
twenty yards before he saluted us with two or 
three hoots. Jesse was right in one thing; he 
had camped near us, pawing some brush to¬ 
gether under a shelving rock for his bed. At 
first it was difficult to track }iim on the hard 
snow, and we had to look for the marks made 
by his Sharp claws; but as the sun rose higher, 
it became unusually warm, the thin snow crust 
gave way, and the bear sank deeper and deeper 
until he fairly wallowed, as Wildair said. 
“I give him an hour longer to live!” cried 
Rattler, putting a fresh cap on the nipple of his 
rifle. 
“Not so long as that,” said Jesse, pressing 
on with enormous strides. 
But one hour, two hours, six hours and ap¬ 
proaching darkness found the bear still wear¬ 
ing Wildair’s sofa cover, and again we made 
camp—as tired and used-up a party as ever 
tramped that wilderness. There was little 
boasting now as to what we would do with the 
bear when we caught him, although Rattler de¬ 
clared he was pretty much done for and could 
not stand it many hours longer. 
“He must be awful hungry,” said Jesse. 
“Only a handful of roots to eat since last fall.” 
“The last I saw of him to-night,” said Lincoln 
drily, “he was chasing a rabbit for his supper 
with a,good prospect of getting him.” 
This remark was frowned upon by the en¬ 
tire company, and Lincoln relapsed into silence, 
although I noticed a peculiar smile on his thin 
face. 
The third morning opened like the second. 
The bear had passed the night near us, and 
promptly resumed his march on our first move¬ 
ment; only he seemed a little fresher than on 
the day before. I suggested that he must have 
caught the rabbit, but no one took any notice 
of it except Lincoln. As for the hunters, we 
no longer kept together. Jesse, whom nothing 
could tire, kept the lead of the straggling line, 
while I brought up the rear—of course, some 
one must be in the rear, and I had no foolish 
pride. It was the middle of the afternoon be¬ 
fore the bear was seen again, and then he 
greeted us with what sounded like a derisive 
grunt and quickly disappeared. His pace was 
utterly discouraging. 
“We must take that bear alive,” I ventured 
timidly, for the few remarks I had made had 
been received with little favor. 
“Alive!” cried Wildair. “And why, may I 
ask?” 
“I want him. I have a use for him. I shall 
enter him in the next six months’ free-for-all 
go-as-you-please race.” This attempt at a joke 
met with what I am now convinced was well- 
merited contempt. 
The hunters had thrown themselves upon a 
fallen log, tired and rather discouraged—all 
but Jesse, who was never tired. He looked at 
us compassionately. 
“Used up, boys?” and he smiled. 
One or two feeble attempts were made at 
denial, but found no believers. 
“I’ll tell you how it is,” he continued. “That 
bear has got his toes straightened out. He 
makes a track half as big as a snowshoe, and 
he does not slump nearly as bad as he did 
yesterday. He is thoroughly warmed up, and 
I don’t believe his meat is fit to eat. Eh, 
Corporal?” 
“Feverish, certainly, and probably unhealthy,” 
muttered the Corporal. “And his claws must 
be badly worn and broken.” 
“Of course,” said Wildair, “after going 
through the brush in the reckless manner he 
has for the last three days his skin would not 
be suitable for our sofa, and he is welcome to 
it, as far as I am concerned.” 
“If it wasn’t for my lame knee,” said Rattler, 
“I’d follow that bear alone, as long as there is 
snow to track him.” It is perhaps proper to 
state here that this was the first any of us 
knew of Rattler’s lameness. 
“I give the chase up,” said Lincoln, “because 
I have had some experience in this sort of thing 
before. I don’t think we can run down that 
bear. I believe he can travel two miles to our 
one for the next week.” 
So ended that bear hunt. It was rather a 
tender subject to touch upon for a day or two, 
but v/hen we were again back in our old camp, 
Forrester offered a suggestion to which we all 
agreed. 
“If any of our friends in the settlements,” 
said he, “want an exciting and invigorating 
sport, let us advise them to try running down 
a bear.” Frederic L. B.\llard. 
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