d by the light of a half-moon I caught one glimpse of
a bear and her cub jumping away for the shelter of the woods.

The gnawing still went on behind the old shanty by the river. "Another
cub!" I thought--for I was new to the big woods--and stole down to peek
by the corner of the camp, in whose yard I had pitched my tent the first
night out in the wilderness.

There was an old molasses hogshead lying just beyond the log camp, its
mouth looking black as ink in the moonlight, and the scratching-gnawing
sounds went on steadily within its shadow. "He's inside," I thought with
elation, "scraping off the crusted sugar. Now to catch him!"

I stole round the camp, so as to bring the closed end of the hogshead
between me and the prize, crept up breathlessly, and with a quick jerk
hove the old tub up on end, trapping the creature inside. There was a
thump, a startled scratching and rustling, a violent rocking of the
hogshead, which I tried to hold down; then all was silent in the trap.
"I've got him!" I thought, forgetting all about the old she-bear, and
shouted for Simmo to wake up and bring the ax.

We drove a ring of stakes close about the hogshead, weighted it down
with heavy logs, and turned in to sleep. In the morning, with cooler
judgment, we decided that a bear cub was too troublesome a pet to keep
in a tent; so I stood by with a rifle while Simmo hove off the logs and
cut the stakes, keeping a wary eye on me, meanwhile, to see how far he
might trust his life to my nerve in case the cub should be big and
troublesome; for an Indian takes no chances. A stake fell; the hogshead
toppled over by a push from within; Simmo sprang away with a yell; and
out wobbled a big porcupine, the biggest I ever saw, and tumbled away
straight towards my tent. After him went the Indian, making sweeping
cuts at the stupid thing with his ax, and grunting his derision at my
bear cub.

Halfway to the tent Unk Wunk stumbled across a bit of pork rind, and
stopped to nose it daintily. I caught Simmo's arm and stayed the blow
that would have made an end of my catch. Then, between us, Unk Wunk sat
up on his haunches, took the pork in his fore paws and sucked the salt
out of it, as if he had never a concern and never an enemy in the wide
world. A half hour later he loafed into my tent, where I sat repairing a
favorite salmon fly that some hungry sea-trout had torn to tatters, and
drove me unceremoniously out of my own bailiwick in his search for mor