He whispered to the rifleman, who sat kneeling in the bow
of the boat, to take his rifle. But instead of doing so he picked up
his two-barreled shot-gun. As they turned the point, there stood a
bear not twenty yards away, drinking from the stream. Uncle Nathan
held the canoe, while the man who had come so far in quest of this very
game was trying to lay down his shot-gun and pick up his rifle. "His
hand moved like the hand of a clock," said Uncle Nathan, "and I could
hardly keep my seat. I knew the bear would see us in a moment more,
and run. Instead of laying his gun by his side, where it belonged, he
reached it across in front of him and laid it upon his rifle, and in
trying to get the latter from under it a noise was made; the bear heard
it and raised his head. Still there was time, for as the bear sprang
into the woods he stopped and looked back,--"as I knew he would," said
the guide; yet the marksman was not ready. "By hemp! I could have shot
three bears," exclaimed Uncle Nathan, "while he was getting that rifle
to his face!"
Poor Mr.
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