BOB, AND BIMBER, AND THE BEAR.

Bob Torrey was cantering slowly over the mesa, returning from an errand to a neighboring cattle ranch, when he caught sight of a hawk's nest in the top of a large cedar, and determined to learn whether it contained any eggs. So he rode up to the tree and dismounted, the pony understanding by the dropped bridle-rein that he was not to stray away. His dog Bimber at once began a diligent investigation of the premises of a badger, the front door of whose burrow opened between two large roots.

Bob had just reached the nest, after some hard scrambling, and was intent upon its four brown-splotched eggs, when he heard Bimber begin barking furiously.

"Guess he's found somebody at home. Teach him to keep out of other people's houses," Bob said to himself, gleefully, but was too busy to look down. The racket continued, and seemed to go away and come back. Lowering his head below the nest to ascertain what was going on, the boy forgot those eggs instantly, for he saw a grizzly bear loping over the ground in close pursuit of that fool of a dog, who was ki-yi-ing and doing his best to reach the tree, while Bob's pony, head and tail up, was making a record for speed in the opposite direction.

The bear seemed as big as an elephant, and was growling savagely. "Oh," he thought, "if I were only a hawk, like that one soaring overhead; or a horse, like that one tearing across the prairie; or even a dog, like Bimber, who—" But where was Bimber? He had disappeared. Had the bear eaten him up? No; the boy must have seen the capture if that had happened.

Then a horrible thought came and nearly chilled his bones. Could a grizzly bear climb a tree?

Suddenly the barking was heard once more, but in a queer, muffled tone, as if the dog were far away, yet no glimpse of his white coat could be caught anywhere, though Bob's eyes searched on all sides. Next the barking would ring out sharp and clear close by, and the bear would give a new roar, but nothing be visible. It was most puzzling.

"Where in the mischief is Bimber?" the prisoner kept asking himself, until he almost forgot his own peril.

Then the terrier suddenly appeared, facing his big enemy, and scolding the best he knew how. The grizzly whirled round and made a dash, but the dog was twice as agile, and in an instant was safe, in that burrow between the roots.

The bear tried to reach in, first one paw and then another, and so drag its small enemy out, but such tactics were of no avail. The dog simply retreated until Bob could scarcely hear its voice, and never once ventured within reach of those formidable claws.

"Maybe I can frighten the beast," thought Bob, as he drew his small double-barrelled pistol from his belt and fired.

The bear gave a roar as the little bullet stung his shoulder, and, dropping the shot-gun, came rushing back to the tree, where it reared up savagely, only to receive the contents of the other barrel, making a scalp wound, which brought out another terrific growl, while Bimber was able to take a nip at a hind leg and escape.

This last bit of impudence was too much. Bruin was thoroughly enraged. He tore at the mouth of the burrow as though he meant to dig it out in three minutes, but the tough roots were in the way, and before long he gave up the task, and, as if decided upon a siege, lay down squarely across the hole and began rubbing his sore head.

For an hour or more the boy sat there, when suddenly an idea occurred to him.

His powder-flask still hung around his neck. Unscrewing its cap, he poured into his left hand as much gunpowder as it could conveniently hold, and replaced the cap. Reaching up to the nest, he lifted out one of the hawk's eggs, broke it gently, and let a little quantity of the sticky "white" run into the powder in his palm. This done, he mixed the two together, adding more of one or the other as needed, until he had formed a paste that suited him. This paste be shaped into a roll or cord around a ravelling from his coat lining, which served as a sort of wick, coiled it closely, and laid it on the branch beside him. This was a "spitting devil," such as he had often used to make Fourth-of-July fun with. He then made two more.

With as little noise as possible Bob crept down to the lowest limb, where he was directly over the huge mass of fur, and twisted his legs round the limb so as to leave both arms free. Holding the three "devils" in one hand, he took a match from his pocket and lighted them rapidly, then dropped the blazing things, one after another, upon the dozing beast beneath him.

If Bruin noticed them at all, he doubtless supposed some twigs had fallen upon his back; but before long their fizzing and snapping woke him up, and the next moment they began to warm him well, especially one, which had caught firmly in the ruff around his neck, and another among the long hair on his haunches. He rolled over and over, but this only ground the devils deeper into the fur, while Bimber, aroused by the rumpus, rushed out to add his clamor to the commotion. Suddenly a terrific explosion rent the air, and nearly knocked Bob off his perch with surprise. The bear, in floundering about, had sat down upon the gun, and, entangling the hammers in his hair, had discharged it; but as the barrels were bent, of course the gun had burst.

That was the finishing touch. Singed, stung, and panic-stricken by the powder on his back and the explosion in his rear, the grizzly uttered a great howl and galloped away at the top of his speed.