sight of the bear reminded Oo-koo-hoo of an experience some friends of
his once had with a black bear; and when we reached slack water he told
it to me.

The friends in question were a mother and her daughter, and late one
afternoon they were returning from berry picking. As they rounded a
bend in the river the daughter in the bow suddenly stopped paddling,
and--without turning her face toward her mother in the stern--excitedly
whispered: "_Muskwa_! _Muskwa_!"

Then as the older woman caught sight of a dark object fifty paces away,
she uttered a few hurried commands. Both fell to paddling with all
their might. With straining backs, stiffened arms, and bending blades,
they fairly lifted the canoe at every stroke; and the waters gave a
tearing sound as the slashing blades sent little whirlpools far behind.
Their hearts were fired with the spirit of the chase, and--though their
only weapons were their skinning knives--they felt no fear. On they
raced to head the bear, who was swimming desperately to gain the shore.
They overhauled him. He turned at bay. The daughter soused a blanket
in the water and threw it over his head. The mother in the stern
reached over as the canoe glided by, seized him by an ear as he
struggled blindly beneath the smothering mantle, and drove her knife
into his throat. A broad circle of crimson coloured the water round
the blanket. The canoe was quickly brought about; the mother slipped a
noose over his head, and in triumph they towed the carcass to their
camp.

On the last morning of our trip there was a flutter of pleasant
excitement among our little party; and by the time the sun appeared and
breakfast was over, everybody was laughing and talking, for we had made