I did n't have no gun, and it was n't much
of a trail, but I reckoned it was a heap sight better 'n scramblin'
through them bushes, and I jest thought I 'd let the bear do the
scramblin'. Sunday, he rushed out between my legs and begun to
bow-wow, bold as if he 'd been John Sullivan. 'Hist, Sunday!' says I,
'I've got the floor! Gimme the first chance; and if there 's any
talking to do after that, you can do it.' So he come and squatted down
beside me; and the bear, he stood there lookin' at us.
"'Mr. Bear,' says I, 'I 'd hate to have to spile your hide, but I 'll
do it if you don't get out o' this trail. I 've killed eighty bear in
these mountains, and I won't take no sass from you. The climate in
this trail ain't what you need, an' I advise you to git out of it. Off
into the bushes with you! Whoop! Git!' An' off he went, just as if I
owned that trail an' he was trespassin'.
[Illustration: "I 'd hate to have to spile your hide, but I 'll do it
if you don't get out o' this trail."]
"That bear was as reasonable as any I ever see, but I had more trouble
with a big feller up toward Crescent Lake.
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