"Where's the bear? Which way has he gone?"
Suddenly I heard:
"Here he is! Here he is!"
And we saw the bear again running at us. We seized our guns, but before any one had time to fire he had run past He had grown ferocious and wanted to gnaw me again, but, seeing so many people, he took fright. We saw by his track that his head was bleeding, and we wanted to follow him up, but, as my wounds had become very painful, we went, instead, to the town to find a doctor.
The doctor stitched up my wounds with silk and they soon began to heal.
A month later we went to hunt that bear again, but I did not get a chance of finishing him. He would not come out of the circle, but went round and round, growling in a terrible voice.
Damian killed him. The bear's lower jaw had been broken and one of his teeth knocked out by my bullet. He was a huge creature and had splendid black fur.
I had him stuffed and he now lies in my room. The wounds on my forehead healed up so that the scars can scarcely be seen.
—Leo M. Tolstoy.
"Twenty-three Tales from Tolstoy." (Oxford.) Written about 1872.