“Aw, I—­I—­it—­” he floundered.

Whereupon I lectured him about forbidden things and untruthfulness.  His reply was:  “But, Dad, it hurts like sixty.  Won’t you put somethin’ on it?”

I dressed and bandaged the trifling cut for him, telling him the while how little Indian boys, when cut or kicked or bruised, never showed that they were hurt.  “Huh!” he grunted.  “Guess there’s no Indian in me....  I must take after mother!”

That afternoon and night the hounds straggled in, Old Tom and Dan first, and then the others, one by one, fagged-out and foot-sore.  Next morning, however, they appeared none the worse for their long chase.  We went again to Horton Thicket to rout out a bear.

This time I remained on top of the rim with R.C. and Nielsen; and we took up a stand across the canyon, near where my first stand had been.  Here we idled the hours away waiting for the hounds to start something.  While walking along the rim I happened to look across the big cove that cut into the promontory, and way on the other slope what did I espy but a black bear.  He appeared to be very small, or merely a cub.  Running back to R.C. and Nielsen I told them, and we all took up our rifles.  It occurred to me that the distance across this cove was too far for accurate shooting, but it never occurred to me to jump on my horse and ride around the head of the cove.

“He’s not scared.  Let’s watch him,” suggested R.C.

[Illustration:  Wild turkeys]

[Illustration:  The white quaking ASPS]

We saw this bear walk along, poke around, dig into the ground, go behind trees, come out again, and finally stand up on his hind feet and apparently reach for berries or something on a bush.  R.C. bethought himself of his field-glass.  After one look he exclaimed:  “Say, fellows, he’s a whopper of a bear!  He’ll weigh five hundred pounds.  Just take a look at him!”

My turn with the glasses revealed to me that what I had imagined to be a cub was indeed a big bear.  After Nielsen looked he said:  “Never saw one so big in Norway.”

“Well, look at that black scoundrel!” exclaimed R.C.  “Standing up!  Looking around!  Wagging his head!...  Say, you saw him first.  Suppose you take some pegs at him.”

“Wish Romer were here.  I’d let him shoot at that bear,” I replied.  Then I got down on my knee, and aiming as closely as possible I fired.  The report rang out in the stillness, making hollow echoes.  We heard the bullet pat somewhere.  So did the bear hear it.  Curiously he looked around, as if something had struck near him.  But scared he certainly was not.  Then I shot four times in quick succession.

“Well, I’ll be darned!” ejaculated R.C.  “He heard the bullets hit and wonders what the dickens....  Say, now he hears the reports!  Look at him stand!”