The Haughts came over from their camp that night and visited us.  Much as I loved to sit alone beside a red-embered fire at night in the forest, or on the desert, I also liked upon occasions to have company.  We talked and talked.  Old-timer Doyle told more than one of his “in the early days” stories.  Then Haught told us some bear stories.  The first was about an old black bear charging and sliding down at him.  He said no hunter should ever shoot at a bear above him, because it could come down at him as swiftly as a rolling rock.  This time he worked the lever of his rifle at lightning speed, and at the last shot he “shore saw bear hair right before his eyes.”  His second story was about a boy who killed a bear, and was skinning it when five more bears came along, in single file, and made it very necessary that he climb a tree until they had gone.  His third story was about an old she-bear that had two cubs.  Haught happened to ride within sight of her when evidently she thought it time to put her cubs in a safe place.  So she tried to get them to climb a spruce tree, and finally had to cuff and spank them to make them go up.  In connection with this story he told us he had often seen she-bears spank their cubs.  More thrilling was his fourth story about a huge grizzly, a sheep and cattle killer that passed through the country, leaving death behind him on the range.

Romer’s enjoyment of this story-telling hour around the glowing camp-fire was equalled by his reluctance to go to bed.  “Aw, Dad, please let me hear one more,” he pleaded.  His shining eyes would have weakened a sterner discipline than mine.  And Haught seemed inspired by them.

“Wal now, listen to this hyar,” he began again, with a twinkle in his eye.  “Thar was an old fellar had a ranch in Chevelon Canyon, an’ he was always bein’ pestered by mountain lions.  His name was Bill Tinker.  Now Bill was no sort of a hunter, fact was he was afeerd of lions an’ bears, but he shore did git riled when any critters rustled around his cabin.  One day in the fall he comes home an’ seen a big she-lion sneakin’ around.  He grabbed a club, an’ throwed it, and yelled to scare the critter away.  Wal, he had an old water barrel layin’ around, an’ darned if the lion didn’t run in thet barrel an’ hide.  Bill run quick an’ flopped the barrel end up, so he had the lion trapped.  He had to set on the barrel to hold it down.  Shore that lion raised old Jasper under the barrel.  Bill was plumb scared.  Then he seen the lion’s tail stick out through the bung-hole.  Bill bent over an’ shore quick tied a knot in thet long tail.  Then he run fer his cabin.  When he got to the door he looked back to see the lion tearin’ down the hill fer the woods with the barrel bumpin’ behind her.  Bill said he never seen her again till next spring, an’ she had the barrel still on her tail.  But what was stranger’n thet Bill swore she had four cubs with her an’ each of them had a keg on its tail.”