“Why it’s like—­murder,” he protested.

“Oh, not so bad as that,” I returned, weakly.  “We need the meat.  We’ve not had any game meat, you know, except ducks and grouse.”

“You won’t do it?” he added, grimly.

“No, I refuse.”

Meanwhile the young ranchers gazed at us with wide eyes and the expression on Teague’s honest, ruddy face would have been funny under other circumstances.

“That bear will come down an’ mebbe kill one of my dogs,” he protested.

“Well, he can come for all I care,” I replied, positively, and I turned away.

I heard R.C. curse low under his breath.  Then followed the spang of his .35 Remington.  I wheeled in time to see the bear straining upward in terrible convulsion, his head pointed high, with blood spurting from his nose.  Slowly he swayed and fell with a heavy crash.

[Illustration:  Crossing the Colorado river at the bottom of the grand canyon]

[Illustration:  Where Rolls the Colorado]

The next bear chase we had was entirely different medicine.

Off in the basin under the White Slides, back of our camp, the hounds struck a fresh track and in an instant were out of sight.  With the cowboy Vern setting the pace we plunged after them.  It was rough country.  Bogs, brooks, swales, rocky little parks, stretches of timber full of windfalls, groves of aspens so thick we could scarcely squeeze through—­all these obstacles soon allowed the hounds to get far away.  We came out into a large park, right under the mountain slope, and here we sat our horses listening to the chase.  That trail led around the basin and back near to us, up the thick green slope, where high up near a ledge we heard the pack jump this bear.  It sounded to us as if he had been roused out of a sleep.

“I’ll bet it’s one of the big grizzlies we’ve heard about,” said Teague.

That was something to my taste.  I have seen a few grizzlies.  Riding to higher ground I kept close watch on the few open patches up on the slope.  The chase led toward us for a while.  Suddenly I saw a big bear with a frosted coat go lumbering across one of these openings.

“Silvertip!  Silvertip!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.  “I saw him!”

My call thrilled everybody.  Vern spurred his horse and took to the right.  Teague advised that we climb the slope.  So we made for the timber.  Once there we had to get off and climb on foot.  It was steep, rough, very hard work.  I had on chaps and spurs.  Soon I was hot, laboring, and my heart began to hurt.  We all had to rest.  The baying of the hounds inspirited us now and then, but presently we lost it.  Teague said they had gone over the ridge and as soon as we got up to the top we would hear them again.  We struck an elk trail with fresh elk tracks in it.  Teague said