We took new stands; but the afternoon passed without incident to those of us on the mountain tops. I returned to camp about five o’clock, and was surprised to see three of our men lugging across the “gant-lot”[3] toward the cabin a small female bear.
“Hyur’s yer old nigger woman,” shouted John.
The hunters showed no elation—in fact, they looked sheepish—and I suspected a nigger in the woodpile.
“How’s this? I didn’t hear any drive.”
“There wa’n’t none.”
“Then where did you get your bear?”
“In one of Wit Hensley’s traps, dum him! Boys, I wish t’ we hed roasted the temper outen them trap-springs, like we talked o’ doin’.”
“Was the bear alive?”
“Live as a hot coal. See the pup’s head!”
I examined Coaly, who looked sick. The flesh was torn from his lower jaw and hung down a couple of inches. Two holes in the top of his head showed where the bear’s tusks had tried to crack his skull.