grass, and finally dirt, making everything snug and cozy. A little
fireplace in the wall served as both furnace and kitchen. Outside we
built a corral for the oxen, which completed our camp.

Our trapping was successful from the start, and we were sure that
prosperity was at last in sight.

We set our steel traps along the "runs" used by the animals, taking
great care to hide our tracks, and give the game no indication of the
presence of an enemy. The pelts began to pile up in our shack. Most of
the day we were busy at the traps, or skinning and salting the hides,
and at night we would sit by our little fire and swap experiences till
we fell asleep. Always there was the wail of the coyotes and the cries
of other animals without, but as long as we saw no Indians we were not
worried.

One night, just as we were dozing off, we heard a tremendous commotion
in the corral. Harrington grabbed his gun and hurried out. He was just
in time to see a big bear throw one of our oxen and proceed with the
work of butchering him.

He fired, and the bear, slightly wounded, left the ox and turned his
attention to his assailant. He was leaping at my partner, growling
savagely when I, gun in hand, rounded the corner of the shack. I took
the best aim I could get in the dark, and the bear, which was within a
few feet of my friend, rolled over dead.

Making sure that he was past harming us we turned our attention to the
poor bull, but he was too far gone to recover, and another bullet put
him out of his misery.