to bed, where for another half-hour Joe and I lay
talking, unable, naturally, to go to sleep at once after such a lively
stirring-up.

By sunrise next morning we were all out to see what damage had been
done. The bear had torn a great hole in the roof of the pen, had jumped
in and had killed and partly eaten one pig, choosing, as a bear of his
sagacity naturally would, the best one. We were fortunate, though, to
have come off so cheaply; doubtless the light of our torch shining
through the chinks of the logs had disturbed him.

If there had been any question as to the marauder's identity, that was
settled at once. His tracks were plain in the dust, and as one of his
hind feet showed no marks of claws, we knew it was Big Reuben; for Big
Reuben had once been caught in a trap and had only freed himself by
leaving his toe-nails behind him.

Outside the kitchen door and window the tracks were very plain; there
was also a good deal of blood, showing that he had been hit at least
once. But it was evident also that he had not been hurt very seriously,
for there was no irregularity in his trail--no swaying from side to
side, as from weakness--though we followed it up to the point where, at
the upper end of our valley, the bear had climbed the cliff which
bounded the Second Mesa. Though on this occasion he had thought fit to
run away, there was little doubt but that he would live to fight another
day.

"Father," said I, as we sat together at breakfast, "may Joe and I go and
trail him up? If he keeps on bleeding it ought to be easy, and it is
just possible that we might find him dead."

My father at first shook his head, but presently, reconsidering, he
replied: "Well, you may go; but you must go on your ponies: it's too
dangerous to go a-foot. And in any case, if the trail leads you up to
the loose rocks or into the big timber you must stop. You know what a
tricky beast Big Reuben is. If he sees that he is followed he will lie
in hiding and jump out on you. That's how he caught Jed Smith, you
remember."

"We'll take care, father," said I. "We'll stick to our ponies, and then
we shall be all safe."

"Very well, then; be off with you."

With this permission we set off, I carrying a rifle and Joe his "old
cannon," as he called the big shotgun; each with a crust of bread and a
slice or two of bacon in his pocket by way of lunch. Picking up the
trail where we had left it at the foot of the Second Mesa, we scrambled
up the