The first day we started north we killed a bear, and filled our stomachs with the fat, sweet meat.  The next night we killed another bear after a little struggling.  The dog made him climb a tree and we shot at him; he would fall to the ground as if dead, but would be on his feet again in an instant, when, after the dog had fastened to his ham, he would climb the tree again.  In the third trial he lay in the fork and had a good chance to look square at his tormentor.  I shot him in the head, and as he lay perfectly still, Buck said:—­“Now you have done it—­we can’t get him.”  But in a moment he began to struggle, and soon came down, lifeless.

Here we camped on the edge of the pine forest, ate all the fat bear meat we could, and in the morning took separate routes, agreeing to meet again a mile or so farther up a small brook.  I soon saw a small bear walking on a log and shot him dead.  His mate got away, but I set my dog on him and he soon had to climb a tree.  When I came up to where the dog was barking I saw Mr. Bear and fired a ball in him that brought him down.  Just then I heard Mr. Buck shoot close by, and I went to him and found he had killed another and larger bear.  We stayed here another night, dressed our game and sunk the meat in the brook and fastened it down, thinking we might want to get some of it another time.

We were so well pleased with this hunting ground that we took the bear skins and went back to camp.  When we got there our clothes were pretty well saturated with bear’s oil, and we jokingly said it must have soaked through our bodies, we had eaten so much bear meat.  I began to feel quite sick, and had a bad headache.  I felt as if something must be done, but we had no medicine.  Mr. Buck went down by the creek and dug some roots he called Indian Physic, then steeped them until the infusion seemed as black as molasses, and, when cool told me to take a swallow every fifteen minutes for an hour, then half as much for another hour as long as I could keep it down.  I followed directions and vomited freely and for a long time, but felt better afterward, and soon got well.  It reminded me some of the feelings I had when I was seasick on Lake Michigan.

It may be interesting to describe how we were dressed to enter on this winter campaign.  We wore moccasins of our own make.  I had a buckskin jumper, and leggins that came up to my hips.  On my head a drab hat that fitted close and had a rim about two inches wide.  In fair weather I went bare-headed, Indian fashion.  I carried a tomahawk which I had made.  The blade was two inches wide and three inches long—­the poll two inches long and about as large round as a dime; handle eighteen or twenty inches long with a knob on the end so it would not easily slip from the hand.  Oiled patches for our rifle balls on a string, a firing wire, a charger to measure the powder, and a small piece of leather with four nipples on it for caps—­all on my breast, so that I could load very rapidly.