Haught had another brother named Henry, who had come to Arizona from Texas, and had brought a half-hound with him.  Henry offered to wager this dog was the best bear chaser in the country.  The general impression Henry’s hound gave was that he would not chase a rabbit.  Finally Haught took his brother Henry and some other men on a bear hunt.  There were wagers made as to the quality of Henry’s half-hound.  When at last Haught’s pack struck a hot scent, and were off with the men riding fast behind, Henry’s half-breed loped alongside his master, paying no attention to the wild baying of the pack.  He would look up at Henry as if to say:  “No hurry, boss.  Wait a little.  Then I’ll show them!” He loped along, wagging his tail, evidently enjoying this race with his master.  After a while the chase grew hotter.  Then Henry’s half-hound ran ahead a little way, and came back to look up wisely, as if to say:  “Not time yet!” After a while, when the chase grew very hot indeed, Henry’s wonderful canine let out a wild yelp, darted ahead, overtook the pack and took the lead in the chase, literally chewing the heels of the bear till he treed.  Haught and his friends lost all the wagers.

The most remarkable bears in this part of Arizona were what Haught called blue bears, possibly some kind of a cross between brown and black.  This species was a long, slim, blue-furred bear with unusually large teeth and very long claws.  So different from ordinary bears that it appeared another species.  The blue bear could run like a greyhound, and keep it up all day and all night.  Its power of endurance was incredible.  In Haught’s twenty years of hunting there he had seen a number of blue bears and had killed two.  Haught chased one all day with young and fast hounds.  He went to camp, but the hounds stuck to the chase.  Next day Haught followed the hounds and bear from Dude Creek over into Verde Canyon, back to Dude Creek, and then back to Verde again.  Here Haught gave out, and was on his way home when he met the blue bear padding along as lively as ever.

I never tired of listening to Haught.  He had killed over a hundred bears, many of them vicious grizzlies, and he had often escaped by a breadth of a hair, but the killing stories were not the most interesting to me.  Haught had lived a singularly elemental life.  He never knew what to tell me, because I did not know what to ask for, so I just waited for stories, experiences, woodcraft, natural history and the like, to come when they would.  Once he had owned an old bay horse named Moze.  Under any conditions of weather or country Moze could find his way back to camp.  Haught would let go the bridle, and Moze would stick up his ears, look about him, and circle home.  No matter if camp had been just where Haught had last thrown a packsaddle!