words that a bear, of unusual size, had
given the old man the run of his life through the woods.

Grandpa Butterfield was the hero of the village, both for that day and
several following, and the long-talked-of bear-hunt was at once
organized.

There was but one rifle in the village, and that was a 38-55
Winchester, the property of the young hunter from the city, who had
filled Black Bruin's coat with squirrel-shot. So old rusty shotguns
were got out and cleaned up in readiness for the fray. Some of them
had not seen service recently, with the exception of once or twice a
year, when they were used to scare off the crows or to frighten a
woodchuck which was making too free with the beans.

Boys hunted up old rusty bullet-moulds and ran bullets, and the
shotguns were loaded with slugs and buckshot.

Those who were not fortunate enough even to possess a disreputable old
gun, armed themselves with pitchforks, so that altogether it was a
motley armed party that started out one early October morning to
annihilate Black Bruin.

The dogs comprising the pack were half-breed hounds and beagles, with
two or three pure-blood foxhounds.

By rare good fortune a farmer, coming into town early, had seen the
bear crossing the road ahead of his team, so that the dogs could be
shown the trail at once.

But when the hunters pointed out the hand-shaped track in the road and
said "seek," the hair rose upon the dogs' backs and they stuck their
tails between their legs and interpreted "seek," as meaning that they
were to seek their own homes by the shortest path. This new rank
animal scent had no attraction for them. They had not lost any bear.
In other words, they would not follow.

Here was a difficulty that the hunters had not foreseen, and for a time
it looked as though the hunt was doomed to end then and there.

Finally some one in the party said, "We ought to have taken along Ben
Holcome's Growler. Growler ain't afraid of the devil himself."

Growler was a mongrel, half-hound and half-bulldog. He had not nose
enough to follow alone, but as had been said, he wasn't afraid of
anything. So as there was nothing else to do, a boy was sent
cross-lots after Growler, while the hunters waited impatiently.

Growler and the boy at last put in an appearance, and the mongrel was
shown the bear-track in the road.

Growler's hair likewise rose up on his neck, but his lips also parted
in a snarl and he started off on the fresh trac