as we turned we saw Teague and the others strung out
along the edge of the park. They got far ahead
of us. When we reached the bottom of the slope
they were out of sight, but we could hear them yell.
The hounds were working around on another slope, from
which craggy rocks loomed above the timber. R.C.’s
horse lunged across the park and appeared to be running
off from mine. I was a little to the right, and
when my horse got under way, full speed, we had the
bad luck to plunge suddenly into soft ground.
He went to his knees, and I sailed out of the saddle
fully twenty feet, to alight all spread out and to
slide like a plow. I did not seem to be hurt.
When I got up my horse was coming and he appeared
to be patient with me, but he was in a hurry.
Before we got across the wet place R.C. was out of
sight. I decided that instead of worrying about
him I had better think about myself. Once on
hard ground my horse fairly charged into the woods
and we broke brush and branches as if they had been
punk. It was again open forest, then a rocky
slope, and then a flat ridge with aisles between the
trees. Here I heard the melodious notes of Teague’s
hunting horn, and following that, the full chorus of
the hounds. They had treed the bear. Coming
into still more open forest, with rocks here and there,
I caught sight of R.C. far ahead, and soon I had glimpses
of the other horses, and lastly, while riding full
tilt, I spied a big, black, glistening bear high up
in a pine a hundred yards or more distant.
Slowing down I rode up to the circle of frenzied dogs
and excited men. The boys were all jabbering
at once. Teague was beaming. R.C. sat his
horse, and it struck me that he looked sorry for the
bear.
“Fifteen minutes!” ejaculated Teague,
with a proud glance at Old Jim standing with forepaws
up on the pine.
Indeed it had been a short and ringing chase.
All the time while I fooled around trying to photograph
the treed bear, R.C. sat there on his horse, looking
upward.
“Well, gentlemen, better kill him,” said
Teague, cheerfully. “If he gets rested
he’ll come down.”
It was then I suggested to R.C. that he do the shooting.
“Not much!” he exclaimed.
The bear looked really pretty perched up there.
He was as round as a barrel and black as jet and his
fur shone in the gleams of sunlight. His tongue
hung out, and his plump sides heaved, showing what
a quick, hard run he had made before being driven
to the tree. What struck me most forcibly about
him was the expression in his eyes as he looked down
at those devils of hounds. He was scared.
He realized his peril. It was utterly impossible
for me to see Teague’s point of view.
“Go ahead—and plug him,” I
replied to my brother. “Get it over.”
“You do it,” he said.
“No, I won’t.”
“Why not—I’d like to know?”
“Maybe we won’t have so good a chance
again—and I want you to get your bear,”
I replied.