as big as a bushel basket, and the hair on his shoulders was four inches
long. I don't know that I'm sorry I didn't kill him. He's hit, and he'll
surely fight say. There'll be a lot of fun in getting him."

"There will that," agreed Bruce, "'specially if you meet 'im again during
the next week or so, while he's still sore from the bullets. Better not
have the gun under you then, Jimmy!"

"What do you say to making this a permanent camp?"

"Couldn't be better. Plenty of fresh meat, good grazing, and fine water."
After a moment he added: "He was hit pretty hard. He was bleedin' bad at
the summit."

In the firelight Langdon began cleaning his rifle.

"You think he may clear out--leave the country?"

Bruce emitted a grunt of disgust.

"Clear out? _Run away_? Mebbe he would if he was a black. But he's a
grizzly, and the boss of this country. He may fight shy of this valley for
a while, but you can bet he ain't goin' to emigrate. The harder you hit a
grizzly the madder he gets, an' if you keep on hittin' 'im he keeps on
gettin' madder, until he drops dead. If you want that bear bad enough we
can surely get him."

"I do," Langdon reiterated with emphasis. "He'll smash record measurements
or I miss my guess. I want him, and I want him bad, Bruce. Do you think
we'll be able to trail him in the morning?"