he wanted mutton, he caught a fat sheep, carried it to his sentry beat
and killed and ate it there, leaving the remains as a warning to the
rest not to cross the dead line. The grass in the _cienega_ was thick
and green, and there was enough seepage of water to furnish drink for
the flock. So the provident bear had several months' supply of mutton
on the hoof, penned up and growing fat in his private storehouse, and
his trail across the entrance was as good as a five-barred gate.

A man less wise than the superintendent would have undertaken to drive
the sheep out and back to camp, but the superintendent knew the ways of
sheep and foresaw that an attempt to rescue them without the aid of
dogs and herders would result only in an endless surging to and fro in
the basin. Besides it was almost dusk, the bear might come home to
supper at any moment and a revolver was of little use in a bear fight
in the dark. Moreover the looting of Old Clubfoot's larder would only
ensure more midnight raids on the flocks upon the mountain. Therefore
the superintendent rode away.

The next day he returned with an old muzzle-loading Belgian musket of
about 75 calibre, a piece of fresh pork and some twine, and he busied
himself awhile among some trees near the bear's sentry beat. When he
left, the old musket was tied firmly to the tree in such a position
that the muzzle could be reached only from in front and in line with
the barrel. In the breech of the barrel were ten drams of quick rifle
powder, and upon the powder rested a brass 12-gauge shot shell, which
had been filled with molten lead. Upon the muzzle was tied the fresh
pork, attached to a string tied to the trigger and passing through a
screw eye back of the guard. The superintendent knew that pork would
be tempting to a mutton-sated bear, and he chuckled as he rode away.