every wound with a great outcry, and sometimes seem to lose their feet
when hit--although they will occasionally fight as savagely as their
more silent brethren. In this case the wounds were mortal, and the bear
died before reaching the edge of the thicket.

I spent much of the fall of 1889 hunting on the head-waters of the
Salmon and Snake in Idaho, and along the Montana boundary line from the
Big Hole Basin and the head of the Wisdom River to the neighborhood of
Red Rock Pass and to the north and west of Henry's Lake. During the
last fortnight my companion was the old mountain man, already mentioned,
named Griffeth or Griffin--I cannot tell which, as he was always called
either "Hank" or "Griff." He was a crabbedly honest old fellow, and a
very skilful hunter; but he was worn out with age and rheumatism, and
his temper had failed even faster than his bodily strength. He showed
me a greater variety of game than I had ever seen before in so short a
time; nor did I ever before or after make so successful a hunt. But he
was an exceedingly disagreeable companion on account of his surly, moody
ways. I generally had to get up first, to kindle the fire and make ready
breakfast, and he was very quarrelsome. Finally, during my absence
from camp one day, while not very far from Red Rock pass, he found my
whisky-flask, which I kept purely for emergencies, and drank all the
contents. When I came back he was quite drunk. This was unbearable, and
after some high words I left him, and struck off homeward through the
woods on my own account. We had with us four pack and saddle horses; and
of these I took a very intelligent and gentle little bronco mare, which
possessed the invaluable trait of always staying near camp, even when
not hobbled. I was not hampered with much of an outfit, having only my
buffalo sleeping-bag, a fur coat, and my washing kit, with a couple of
spare pairs of socks and some handkerchiefs. A frying-pan, some salt
pork, and a hatchet, made up a light pack, which, with the bedding, I