The hunters, both white and red men, consider this the most heroic game.  They prefer to hunt him on horseback, and will venture so near as sometimes to singe his hair with the flash of the rifle.  The hunter of the grizzly bear, however, must be an experienced hand, and know where to aim at a vital part; for of all quadrupeds, he is the most difficult to be killed.  He will receive repeated wounds without flinching, and rarely is a shot mortal unless through the head or heart.

That the dangers apprehended from the grizzly bear, at this night encampment, were not imaginary, was proved on the following morning.  Among the hired men of the party was one William Cannon, who had been a soldier at one of the frontier posts, and entered into the employ of Mr. Hunt at Mackinaw.  He was an inexperienced hunter and a poor shot, for which he was much bantered by his more adroit comrades.  Piqued at their raillery, he had been practicing ever since he had joined the expedition, but without success.  In the course of the present afternoon, he went forth by himself to take a lesson in venerie and, to his great delight, had the good fortune to kill a buffalo.  As he was a considerable distance from the camp, he cut out the tongue and some of the choice bits, made them into a parcel, and slinging them on his shoulders by a strap passed round his forehead, as the voyageurs carry packages of goods, set out all glorious for the camp, anticipating a triumph over his brother hunters.  In passing through a narrow ravine, he heard a noise behind him, and looking round beheld, to his dismay, a grizzly bear in full pursuit, apparently attracted by the scent of the meat.  Cannon had heard so much of the invulnerability of this tremendous animal, that he never attempted to fire, but, slipping the strap from his forehead, let go the buffalo meat and ran for his life.  The bear did not stop to regale himself with the game, but kept on after the hunter.  He had nearly overtaken him when Cannon reached a tree, and, throwing down his rifle scrambled up it.  The next instant Bruin was at the foot of the tree; but, as this species of bear does not climb, he contented himself with turning the chase into a blockade.  Night came on.  In the darkness Cannon could not perceive whether or not the enemy maintained his station; but his fears pictured him rigorously mounting guard.  He passed the night, therefore, in the tree, a prey to dismal fancies.  In the morning the bear was gone.  Cannon warily descended the tree, gathered up his gun, and made the best of his way back to the camp, without venturing to look after his buffalo meat.