I proposed calling Charlie Jones over before entering the
thicket, but Johnnie said no, as it was such a small bear that
Charlie would get mad and would not speak to either of us for a
week if we should call him over for such a little bear, "and if we
cannot kill that bear," he continued, "we had better quit the
mountains."
We both cocked our guns and started into the brush side by side.
When near the center of the thicket I saw the bear raise on its
haunches. The snow was falling from the bushes so thickly that it
was almost impossible to get a bead on him, but I fired, anyway,
and hit too low, thus failing to bring him down.
He made a rush for us, but Johnnie had saved his charge in case I
failed to kill, but the snow was falling from the bushes so fast
and thick that he could not get a shot at the bear as he rushed
for us, so we were both compelled to flee for our lives, Johnnie
to the hillside, while I took down the canyon, jumping the small
logs and falling over the large ones and riding down the brush,
while I could almost feel the bear's breath on my posterior at
every jump, and had it not been that West had saved his charge,
you would now be reading some other book--certainly not this one,
as it would never have been written.
Just as we crossed a little opening, Johnnie fired, the ball
cutting Bear's jugular vein and also his windpipe, but the bear
still seemed to have a "hankering" after me and kept coming for
several yards.
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