o get it. And how to get it very reasonable. One
night while I was staying in the Indian creek off-set I was surrounded
with grey wolves. they came up and even sniffed at the camp door. I shot
five that night by chance shots, and had a lively shooting match most of
the time. About mid-winter we broke camp it grew cold and heavy snows
covered the whole country; so we went down to Duluth and sold our furs.

Here I parted company with Whitecup after getting him roaring full
hoping he would squeal what bait he used--but he was tight as a tick and
mum as a toad.

With my adopted son--so I figured; we bought tickets for Deadwood South
Dakota. Here we met as we had arranged beforehand our two old Partners
Terrel and Ed Scott. After a few days of rest and plan laying we
determined to go back to Fort Collins again and trap where we did
several winters before. We found even more game than when we first had
trapped this country.

We got nicely settled and things looked favorable for a charming catch
we were happy and had always been lucky. But I had often been told by
old Woodsman and Plainsmen and Pioneers that no man ever run long
without getting into a mixup. One morning I swung into the saddle I
never felt better I was full grown nearly seventeen and weighed 203.
pounds. Without an ounce of superflous flesh on my whole frame with the
possible exception of a pound or two of hair.

I steered my bronco up the hill and started over the trap line. I had
not gone far when I heard the jingleing of a trap chain; and the growl
of a bear. I hastily dismounted, drew my rifle and advanced in the
direction of the noise. Emerging from a clump of brush I stood face to
face within forty five feet of a good old grizzley which weighed 1,400,
pounds. He dropped upon his haunches and looked straight at me. I pulled
my gun drew a careful aim at the only place to shoot a Grizzley between
the eye and ear; fired, he fell and quivered, I thought him dead as a
mummy and I set down my gun and went up took the clamps and removed the
trap and just then old bruin rooled over and quick as a wink hit me a
spat in the face that knocked me two or three summersaults broke in my
left cheek and knocked out four teeth and cut my tongue half off. I
struck the ground like a flying squirrel feet first: and after a moment
of time to get my bearings I faced the music; the old dog arose and made
for me like a mad bull. I quickly pulled my old sixshooter and began to