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vanced with noiseless caution, slowly climbing over dead trunks and upturned stumps, and not letting a branch rustle or catch our clothes. When in the middle of the thicket we crossed what was almost a breastwork of fallen logs, and Merrifield, who was leading, paused by the upright stem of a large pine. And there, not ten steps off, was the great bear, slowly rising from his bed among the young spruces. He had heard us, but apparently hardly knew where or what we were, for he reared up on his haunches sidewise to us. Then he saw us, and dropped down again on all fours, the shaggy hair on his neck and shoulders seeming to bristle as he turned toward us. As he sank down on his forefeet I raised the rifle. His head was bent slightly down, and when I saw the top of the white head fairly between the small, glittering, evil eyes, I pulled trigger. Half rising up, the huge beast fell over on his side in the death-throes, the ball having gone into his brain, striking as fairly between the eyes as if the distance had been measured by a carpenter’s rule. The whole thing was over in twenty seconds from the time I sighted the game.” There come times, however, when the hunter becomes the hunted—a circumstance that has been noted by pursuers of big game in other lands. Mr. Roosevelt has enjoyed the distinction of even this experience. It is pretty well conceded by sportsmen generally that of all animals on this continent the one most dangerous is a grizzly bear when wounded. Few men, in such trial, have escaped with their lives. It is still more remarkable to have come away scatheless. And yet that was the good fortune of this man; and the story cannot be better told than in the language which he has himself employed in describing the adventure. “I held true, aiming behind the shoulder,” he says in the course of his report of a hunt in Idaho, “and my bullet shattered the point or lower end of his heart, taking out a big nick. Instantly the great bear turned with a hoarse roar of fury and challenge, blowing the bloody foam from his mouth, so that I saw the gleam of his white fangs; and then he charged straight at me, crashing and bounding through the laurel bushes, so that it was hard to aim. I waited till he came to a fallen tree, raking him as he topped it, with a ball which entered his chest and went through the cavity of his body; but he neither swerved nor flinched, and at the moment I did not know that I had struck him. He came steadily on, and in another moment was almost upon me. I fired for his forehead, but my bullet went low, smashing his lower jaw and going into the neck. I leaped to one side almost as I pulled the trigger; and through the hanging smoke the first thing I saw was his paw, as he made a vicious side blow at me. The rush of his charge carried him past. As he struck he lurched forward, leaving a pool of bright blood where his muzzle hit the ground; but he recovered himself and made two or three jumps onward, while I hurriedly jammed a couple of cartridges into the magazine, my rifle holding but four, all of which I had fired. Then he tried to pull up; but as he did so, his muscles seemed suddenly to give way, his head drooped, and he rolled over and over like a shot rabbit. Each of my first two bullets had inflicted a mortal wound.” It has all the thrill of an excerpt from the journal of Lewis and Clarke, with the simple directness of narration which might be expected from a man who appreciated the peril he had been in, and was too sensible for boasting. Thrilling as are the stories, however, it is certain that hunting did not make up the bulk of activity in ranching. The cattle ranged pretty much at will over mountain, valley and plain, the cowboys keeping track of them with a sagacity that did not embrace the labor of counting, and with a care which protected the stock at night, and in case of storms. The ponies were of the small, wiry kind which move quickly, and can turn like a flash in the process of “cutting out” a steer or cow from a herd where it does not belong. The exigencies of the cattle business rendered necessary the presence of eighty ponies on Mr. Roosevelt’s two ranches. Besides these were a number of larger horses, for the use of the owner or the foreman. There was plenty of work, and every day brought its cares. In the branding season there was scarcely any rest, night or day, for the riding was hard, and almost incessant. But Mr. Roosevelt seemed to thrive on the open air and the exercise, and always returned from his trips to his ranches greatly improved in health, and with added zest for the activities of the more populous East. Some idea of his life on the ranch will be of interest to the reader. It was a type of the habit and occupation of all engaged in similar enter

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