"'What a misfortune! Neyther gun nor hounds.'

"'I'll scratch his back and talk pretty to him,' says I, 'while
you run back and get a Winchester and them ferocious bull-dogs.'

"'Wolf-hounds,' says he, with dignity, 'full-blooded, seventy pun
each. They'll rend the poor beast limb from limb. I hate to do it,
but it 'll be good practice for them.'

"'They may be good renders,' says I, 'but don't forgit the gun.'

"Well, I throwed sticks at the critter when he tried to unclimb
the tree, till finally the boss got back with his dogs. They set
up an awful holler when they see the bear--first one they'd ever
smelled, I reckon--and the little feller crawled up in some forks
and watched things, cautious, while they leaped about, bayin' most
fierce and blood-curdlin'.

"'How you goin' to get him down?' says I.

"'I'll shoot him in the lower jaw,' says the Britisher, 'so he
cawn't bite the dogs. It 'll give 'em cawnfidence.'

"He takes aim at Mr. Bear's chin and misses it three times
runnin', he's that excited.

"'Settle down, H'Anglish,' says I. 'He 'ain't got no double chins.
How many shells left in your gun?' "When he looks he finds there's
only one more, for he hadn't stopped to fill the magazine, so I
cautions him.