But no one could dispute the desirability of ridding the country of the
brute which came so near eating little Nellie Ribsam; and, where there
was so much talk, something was done, or at least attempted.

A hunting party of six men was organized in the month of October, and
they tramped through the woods for days, with a couple of dogs, but the
trail of the animal could not be found. They finally gave up the hunt,
the most tired and disgusted not hesitating to declare they did not
believe a bear had been seen in the forest for half a century.

The opinion of those best qualified to judge, was that bruin obtained
all the food he wanted with such little trouble that he did not care to
molest any persons, and therefore kept out of the way of the hunters.

Nick Ribsam, like all boys, was fond of a gun and dog, and he did not
own either. His father had brought from Holland an old musket, used
before the country was erected into a kingdom for Louis Bonaparte, more
than eighty years ago; but when Nick rammed a charge down its dusty
throat one day, forgetful that one had been resting there for months,
and pulled trigger, it hung fire a long time; but, when it did go off,
it did so in an overwhelming fashion, bursting into a dozen pieces and
narrowly missing killing the astounded lad who discharged it.

But Nick was so anxious to own a gun, that his father bought him one on
the day he reached the age of ten years, which was shortly after
Nellie's adventure with the bear. Although the farmer was frugal in all
things, he believed it was the cheapest to buy the best, and the gun
which was placed in the hands of Nick was a breech-loader with double
barrels. It was a shot-gun, as a matter of course, for little use could
be found for a rifle in that neighborhood.