on together. I did not think it best to trust him, so I told him that
our hunt was pretty well through, anyway, and that I would go home.
There was a blasted pine on the trail, in plain view of the camp, about
a mile off, and I told him that I would leave his rifle at that blasted
pine if I could see him in camp, but that he must not come after me,
for if he did I should assume that it was with hostile intent and would
shoot. He said he had no intention of coming after me; and as he was
very much crippled with rheumatism, I did not believe he would do so.

Accordingly I took the little mare, with nothing but some flour, bacon,
and tea, and my bed-roll, and started off. At the blasted pine I looked
round, and as I could see him in camp, I left his rifle there. I then
traveled till dark, and that night, for the only time in my experience,
I used in camping a trick of the old-time trappers in the Indian days. I
did not believe I would be followed, but still it was not possible to be
sure, so, after getting supper, while my pony fed round, I left the fire
burning, repacked the mare and pushed ahead until it literally became so
dark that I could not see. Then I picketed the mare, slept where I was
without a fire until the first streak of dawn, and then pushed on for a
couple of hours before halting to take breakfast and to let the little
mare have a good feed. No plainsman needs to be told that a man should
not lie near a fire if there is danger of an enemy creeping up on him,
and that above all a man should not put himself in a position where he
can be ambushed at dawn. On this second day I lost the trail, and toward
nightfall gave up the effort to find it, camped where I was, and went
out to shoot a grouse for supper. It was while hunting in vain for a
grouse that I came on the bear and killed it as above described.

When I reached the settlement and went into the store, the storekeeper
identified me by remarking: "You're the tenderfoot that old Hank was