So did the bear hear it. Curiously he looked
around, as if something had struck near him. But scared he certainly
was not. Then I shot four times in quick succession.
"Well, I'll be darned!" ejaculated R.C. "He heard the bullets hit and
wonders what the dickens.... Say, now he hears the reports! Look at
him stand!"
"Boys, smoke him up," I said, after the manner of Haught's vernacular.
So while I reloaded R.C. and Nielsen began to shoot. We had more fun
out of it than the bear. Evidently he located us. Then he began to
run, choosing the open slope by which he had come. I got five more
shots at him as he crossed this space, and the last bullet puffed
up dust under him, making him take a header down the slope into
the thicket. Whereupon we all had a good laugh. Nielsen appeared
particularly pleased over his first shots at a real live bear.
"Say, why didn't you think to ride round there?" queried R.C.
thoughtfully. "He didn't see us. He wasn't scared. In a few minutes
you could have been on the rim of that slope right over him. Got him
sure!"
"R.C. why didn't you think to tell me to do that?" I retorted. "Why
don't we ever think the right thing before it is too late?"
"That's our last chance this year--I feel it in my bones," declared
R.C. mournfully.
His premonition turned out to be correct. Upon our arrival at camp we
heard some very disquieting news.
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