“‘Dick, I see some grizzly bar tracks down in the gully last night. Let’s go an’ hunt up the varmint. I would have follered him up last night, only it war too dark.’
“In course I agreed, an’ we ketched our hosses, which we had picketed close by the cabin, an’ started out—ole Bill leadin’ the way.
“Huntin’ a grizzly is fine sport sometimes; but if a feller is any way skeery, he had better not take a hand in it. Even the Injuns don’t keer to meddle with the varmint, unless a dozen or two of ’em, well mounted an’ armed, can ketch him out in clar open ground; an’ even then they have to handle themselves round purty lively, for if the bar onct gets his claws on a hoss he has to go under. You couldn’t hire a red-skin to go into the mountains alone an’ hunt up a grizzly. The varmint allers lives in the thickest part of the woods; an’ if you don’t plug him through the brain at the first shot, or if your hoss gets tangled in the bushes, you’re in a mighty onpleasant fix the first thing you know. But me an’ Bill had hunted grizzlies plenty o’ times, an’ allers come out o’ the fight right side up, an’ we war used to the sport.
“Wal, as I was sayin’, we started out toward the place where Bill had seed the trail o’ the bar, an’, arter four hours’ hard ridin’ over rocks an’ fallen logs an’ thick bushes, we come to the gully. It war ’bout a hundred feet deep an’ a quarter of a mile broad, an’ the banks on both sides war as steep as the roof o’ this cabin, an’ covered with bushes so thick that a hoss couldn’t hardly work a way through ’em. It war a fine place for a bar, an’ many a trapper wouldn’t have liked the idea o’ goin’ down in there to hunt one up, an’ I couldn’t help sayin’:
“‘Ugly place, ain’t it?’
“‘Yes,’ answered ole Bill. ‘But look over there;’ an’ he pinted acrost the gully to a sort o’ clar spot, where there warn’t no bushes, an’ the timber didn’t grow very thick. ‘If the bar gets arter us,’ he went on to say, ‘we must run for that ar place; an’ if we onct get him up there, he’s ourn, sure.’
“Arter stoppin’ a few minits to give our hosses a chance to rest, we took a look at our rifles, to see that they war all right, an’ then begun to work our way down into the gully. It must have tuk us an hour to reach the bottom, for the brake war higher than our hosses’ heads, an’ it war hard work to get through it. We had sent out the dogs—we had two of the best bar dogs I ever happened to see—when we first started down, and jest as we reached the bottom of the gully, they give notice, by their howlin’, that they had found the grizzly’s trail. We rid up to the place as fast as we could, an’ ole Bill jumped off his hoss an’ examined the tracks. They war fresh. The bar had jest passed along, an’ we knowed that he warn’t far off.
“‘Hunt ’em up, dogs! hunt ’em up! Off with you!’ shouted ole Bill; an’ he jumped on to his hoss agin, and the dogs, understandin’ what he meant, war out o’ sight in no time. We follered them as fast as we could, an’, purty quick, we heered a great crashin’ in the brake, an’ the dogs broke out into a reg’lar yelpin’. We knowed that they had started the bar, an’ war arter him. In a few minits we come up with ’em, and see the bar settin’ on his haunches. The dogs war jumpin’ round him, now an’ then takin’ a grab at his hams, an’ they kept the varmint spinnin’ round as though he war sot on a pivot. Ole Bill drew his rifle up to his shoulder, an’ sent an ounce-ball into the bar’s hide, which brought him to the ground; but he war on his pins agin in less than no time, an’, leaving the dogs, he took arter ole Bill, who made straight acrost the gully toward the clar spot he had spoken of. The dogs follered close at the bar’s heels, onct in awhile makin’ a grab at his back settlements, which seemed to bother him a good deal; but he didn’t stop to fight ’em, cause he thought the ole trapper war bigger game. The bushes an’ trees war so thick that for some time I couldn’t get a chance to put in a shot. I didn’t want to fire till I war sartin of killin’ the bar, ’cause it war only throwin’ away powder without doin’ no good. So I cheered on the dogs, hopin’ that they would bring the bar to a stand-still; an’ I warn’t mistakened, for they begun to pitch in so rough, that the varmint had to stop to keep ’em off. This war what I war waitin’ for, an’ I sent another chunk o’ cold lead atween his ribs. But he didn’t seem to mind it at all; an’, arter beating off the dogs, he started agin for the trapper.
“Ole Bill had made mighty good use of his time, an’ the way he stuck his heels into his hoss’ sides war a thing to look at. He tried to load up his rifle, but the bushes war so thick that he had to lay close along his hoss, to keep from bein’ swept off by them.
“I drawed up long enough to ram home a ball, an’ then started on agin, an’ when I come up with Bill, I found that he had got into a reg’lar laurel brake. The bushes war thicker than ever, an’ as tough as green hickory, an’ Bill’s hoss couldn’t hardly make no headway at all. But they didn’t seem to bother the varmint any, for he tumbled along as though the bushes hadn’t been more’n straws; an’ he war gainin’ on Bill.