"Well, you are a wonder!" ejaculated Sam Bolton at last. "How in thunder
did you do that? I couldn't make nothing out of _that_ tangle--at least
nothing clear enough to shoot at!"

"Luck," replied Dick, briefly. "I took a snap shot, and happened to make
it."

"You ran mighty big chances of winning old Haukemah," objected Sam.

"Sure! But I didn't," answered Dick, conclusively.

The Indians gathered to examine in respectful admiration. Dick's bullet
had passed from ear to ear. To them it was wonderful shooting, as indeed
it would have been had it indicated anything but the most reckless luck.
Haukemah was somewhat disgusted at the wetting of his finery, but the
bear is a sacred animal, and even ceremonial dress and an explanation of
the motives that demanded his death might not be sufficient to appease
his divinity. The women's squadron appeared about the bend, and added
their cries of rejoicing to those of their husbands and brothers.

The beautiful buckskin garments were hastily exchanged for ordinary
apparel. By dint of much wading, tugging, and rolling the carcass was
teased to the dry beach. There the body was securely anchored by the
paws to small trees, and the work of skinning and butchering began.

Not a shred was wasted. Whatever flesh would not be consumed within a
few days they cut into very thin strips and hung across poles to dry.
Scraps went to the dogs, who were for once well fed. Three of the older
squaws went to work with bone scrapers to tan the hide. In this season,