Jones had made me skillful in dodging branches and snags, and sliding knees back to avoid knocking them against trees. For a mile the forest was comparatively open, and here we had a grand and ringing run. I received two hard knocks, was unseated once, but held on, and I got a stinging crack in the face from a branch. R. C. added several more black-and-blue spots to his already spotted anatomy, and he missed, just by an inch, a solid snag that would have broken him in two. The pack stretched out in wild staccato chorus, the little Airedales literally screeching. Jim got out of our sight and then Sampson. Still it was ever more thrilling to follow by sound rather than sight. They led up a thick, steep slope. Here we got into trouble in the windfalls of timber and the pack drew away from us, up over the mountain. We were half way up when we heard them jump the bear. The forest seemed full of strife and bays and yelps. We heard the dogs go down again to our right, and 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.
"Why it's like--murder," he protested.
"Oh, not so bad as that," I returned, weakly. "We need the meat. We've not had any game meat,
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.
"Why it's like--murder," he protested.
"Oh, not so bad as that," I returned, weakly. "We need the meat. We've not had any game meat,
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