He had halted on an
open hillside, and was busily digging up the caches of some rock gophers
or squirrels. He seemed absorbed in his work, and the stalk was easy.
Slipping quietly back, I ran towards the end of the spur, and in ten
minutes struck a ravine, of which one branch ran past within seventy
yards of where the bear was working. In this ravine was a rather close
growth of stunted evergreens, affording good cover, although in one or
two places I had to lie down and crawl through the snow. When I reached
the point for which I was aiming, the bear had just finished rooting,
and was starting off. A slight whistle brought him to a standstill,
and I drew a bead behind his shoulder, and low down, resting the rifle
across the crooked branch of a dwarf spruce. At the crack he ran off at
speed, making no sound, but the thick spatter of blood splashes, showing
clear on the white snow, betrayed the mortal nature of the wound. For
some minutes I followed the trail; and then, topping a ridge, I saw
the dark bulk lying motionless in a snow drift at the foot of a low
rock-wall, from which he had tumbled.
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