There was much sign of bears in our thickets, and I warned her not to go
out alone after berries where these long-footed beasts now fed
regularly. Sometimes we went there together, with our vessels of bark,
and filled them slowly, as she hobbled along. Our little dog was now
always with us, having become far more tamed and docile with us than is
ever the case of an Indian dog in savagery. One day we wandered in a
dense berry thicket, out of which rose here and there chokecherry trees,
and we began to gather some of these sour fruits for use in the pemmican
which we planned to manufacture. All at once we came to a spot where the
cherry trees were torn down, pulled over, ripped up by the roots. The
torn earth was very fresh, and I knew that the bear that had done the
work could not be far away.
All at once our dog began to growl and erect his hair, sniffing not at
the foot scent, but looking directly into the thicket just ahead. He
began then to bark, and as he did so there rose, with a sullen sort of
grunt and a champing of jaws like a great hog, a vast yellow-gray
object, whose head topped the bushes that grew densely all about. The
girl at my side uttered a cry of terror and turned to run as best she
might, but she fell, and lay there cowering.
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