The Bennington banner. [volume] (Bennington, Vt.) 1858-1894, 1894-03-23
TALE OF A BEAR HIDE
HIS ClNNAMO DIDN'T KNOW
WHEN HE WAS LICKED.

GU see that bear nlneH' remarked
Colonel Jim Struthers, otherwise Montana
Jim, to The Star man at the National.
The reporter saw it. Colonel Jim was in
a reverie. In a musing sort of way he
was stroking that fur backward and for
ward with his foot and seemed once more
to be living in the home of the setting sun.
There was something so impressive in
Jim's manner when he said "You see that
bear hideP" that the reporter sicklied his
face with the pale cast of thought, touch
ed the skin with awe and arranged his
feelings so that they would be in full SYM
pathy with those of the colonel.
Then Jim said: "Well, sir, the spirit,
the grit, the courage and the get thereness
that once upon time animated that bear
robe came within an ace of widowing my
wife, orphaning my kids and making
brother less a host of my promissory sis
tiers. Yes, sir, that is the fur of a CHINA
mon bear. That bear was a whole menag-
erie in one act. AS a rule, cinnamon bear
amt much good except for circus purposes
and steaks; but, as the poet says, there are
exceptions to all rules, and that bear was
the most exceptional exception that ever
got unmuzzled. He was an all around
athlete. He could run like streak of
Blue Line lightning when the plug puller
hits her hard and makes his machine chew
cinders, his blow was very much more
deadly than any Brazilian warlet, he could
swim like Leander when Hero was on the
other side of the creek, and that bear could
use up more cartridges with less wear and
tear to his constitution than any pensioner
on the rolls.
"When he got into a controversy, he
didn't know how to quit any more than
the usual after dinner Cicero. His voice
wasn't tuned to cry enough got into
dispute once with that bear, and it re-
quired the heaviest Springfield arguments
could fire off to make him admit the SUI
periority of him who was alleged to have
dominion over the beasts of the field. I'll
tell you how it was. Last summer l was
fishing on Kootenay lake, in British Co
lumbia. got tired of this.
1.-THE fishing was all right, but there
was nobody around to listen to the stories.
had brother at Occur d'Alene military
reservation in Idaho, and 1 pulled up
stakes with the intention of visiting him.
followed the Kootenay river in south
erly direction till l crossed over into the
land of the free. l halted at the town of
Hope, on Lake Pena d'Oreille, ferried
Clarke's fork and struck into Coeur
d'Alene mountains. 1t was about noon
tide, and it was one of those soft, still
days that occur more frequently in the
pages of a novel than the pages of the
weather map. The trail led through jun
gle of blueberry bushes and ragged quar-
ries of gray, lichen covered powders. Tall
pine timber grew at intervals. About the
only sound of the world that threw up
any sound waves was the grinding and
twisting clatter of my pony's hoofs.
reached the brink of a mountain stream
that had been swollen into a torrent by
late rains, and thought it best to camp
until some dove should announce that the
raging waters would be calm than to at
tempt to swim it and get jammed by dead
trees and branches that were whirliug
along
81 was preparing lunch when the pony
began to act curiously. He paved the
ground, raised his head in frightened
manner, snorted and did other things
which horses usually do when they know
that breakers are ahead. 1 followed the
line of the pony's gaze but couldn't see
anything but BURBERRY bushes. / noticed
lurking there. 1 brought the hammer of
my gun up and formed in line of battle,
but the bush continued to sway, and
could see nothing. AT last felt sure that
| could see part of brown object, and
fired at it. 1t was the porterhouse end of
bear that 1 had shot. He was eating
the berries from that bush, and had in
terrupted his meal.
"Bruin wheeled round, came out into
the trail on the other side of the torrent
and surveyed me. Bang! hit him again,
but it wasn't my day to shoot, and the
pellet lodged forward of the shoulder, in
stead of ingratiating itself in the seat of
his affections. That shot was enough for
him. He snapped at the wound and spoke
a sonorous growl. Then, locating me as
the cause of the effect, he proceeded to re-
move the cause. Onward he came, down
the steep decline to the waters edge. The
Springfield erupted and made one more
hole in the bear. He was mad. He plung
ed into the stream, and keeping his small,
wicked looking eyes bent on me swan
with whole souled desire to get there.
His head was the only thing in sight, and
this was my target. ! shot at it, struck
him between the eyes and lifted the top of
his head off, so that the water which he
was splashing with his paws washed into
the skull and mingled with the blood and
brains.
"But he didn't halt. He landed on my
side of the creek and waltzed along the
trail. He was hideous object, with the
roof Of his head gone and strings of brain
dangling around his face. Another shot
took effect in the body. He was within 10
feet of me. He raised ON his trailers and
came at me. One more shot. felt his
hot, painting breath. My gun was knock
ed from me. l was in the embrace of the
bear. His hug was terrific, and felt my
skeleton giving way.
"My whole life passed in review. If
had known a prayer, would have prayed
it, but my memory is bad on such mat
tiers, and l did not have my manuscript.
tried to get out my knife, but 1 felt that
l was falling. l lost consciousness. When
returned from catalepsy, the bear was
dead beside me, He had expired from his
wounds just as he was about to finish me.
He had taken two balls in the heart, his
brain had been almost blown out of his
tkull pan, and yet he disarmed me and al
most killed me before he died. Yes, sir,
that bear hide you see there is his skin"
Washington Star.
Simple Barometer.
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