Dec. 3, 1910.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
915 
fort every manifestation of life around him, de¬ 
tecting instantly, with the searching glance grown 
habitual and easy with him, every indication of 
the presence of game, the chatter of the inquisi¬ 
tive squirrel, the noisy protest of the scolding 
jay, and the tattoo of the pileated woodpecker, 
whose flaming crest flashed a moment since 
across the green curtain of the drooping fir 
above him — all blend easily and naturally with 
the reverie that takes possession of him, while 
the vigilance, grown sleepless and undemonstra¬ 
tive with the experience of years, would indicate 
to a chance observer a subdued alertness on the 
part of the motionless figure, ready to take in¬ 
stant advantage of the unexpected, which is said 
always to happen. 
Far below me and miles to the westward the 
mighty Columbia crept, a thread of silver, in 
and out among the distant hills. Away beyond, 
tier above tier, rose the spurs of the distant 
Cascade range, hazy and dim with distance, while 
far to the northwest, misty and ethereal in the 
far off blue of heaven, climbed Mount Chopaca, 
the reputed home of the bighorn and of the 
mysterious goat, he of the ebon hoof and horn 
and with the fleece of snow. 
The hunter sighed as he thought of the ad¬ 
verse circumstances that conspired to delay his 
long-promised pilgrimage to those haunts of the 
strange animals he had never seen, and both deer 
and bear were for the moment forgotten. The 
sun had sunk low in the west. The shadows far 
down the mountain side crept slowly and stead.ly 
up toward me. Night was approaching, and my 
time for successfully guarding the lonely trail 
was growing brief. 
Scanning intently all the open ground below 
me in search of the wary deer, which as yet 
wisely remained hidden in the cover of the 
thickets, and with my face for an instant turned 
away from the trail that I was guarding, sud¬ 
denly the bump, bump, bump, of a jumping 
animal behind caused me to turn instantly, and 
there right across the trail sprang a bear of 
medium size and as black as jet. The eddying 
breeze had given him just a sniff of his hidden 
enemy, but had not enabled him to locate the 
danger. 
Jumping into the edge of the first thicket he 
stopped and stood, listening intently. His head 
was hidden from view, but his body showed 
plainly enough to offer a fair shot. As the rifle 
cracked he vanished, but the sound of his run¬ 
ning followed for an instant, and then all was 
still. Hurrying hopefully downward I took his 
trail, and before I had gone twenty feet blood 
appeared, sprinkled upon everything he had 
passed. Twenty-five yards from where he had 
stood in life, an ebon statue, I found him 
stretched dead at the foot of a young fir tree, 
with his heart unfolded like a mushroom. The 
unexpected had indeed happened. As I stood 
over the sleek black body of my first bear it 
was difficult to realize that the haunting desire 
of years was at last gratified. He had appeared 
so suddenly and it had all happened so quickly. 
For years I had sighed to meet a long lost bear, 
and he had on several occasions almost literally 
slipped through my fingers. 
I had one time gone on a wild goose chase 
after him only to shoot a climbing fisher in the 
top of a tall pine, and once I had galloped furi¬ 
ously along a mountain trail in chase of him, 
impelled by a tale of wild-eyed wonder, but this 
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THE NARRATIVE OF A SPORTSMAN 
INTER-OCEAN HUNTING TALES 
EDGAR F. RANDOLPH 
A series of hunting reminiscences of rare charm for'the sportsman and for 
the wider circle which delights in true tales of outdoor life. With none of the high 
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He covers the field of sport with the rifle, east and west, drawing a vivid word 
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FOREST AND STREAM PUBLISHING COMPANY, 127 Franklin Street, NEW YORK 
