When, however, we came up, he was seated on a branch of a tree, leisurely surveying us and the dogs, with great complacency.

The contents of my rifle brought him to the ground, and stirred his blood for battle.

One blow from his powerful paw, sent my fine greyhound some yards distant, sprawling upon the ground, and when he renewed the attack, Bruin met him with extended jaws, taking and munching his head in his mouth.

My rifle was now reloaded, and the second shot killed him on the spot.

We tied his legs together, and lifting him on a pole, marched in triumph into the settlement, where guns were discharged and cheers given, in approbation of our success.
One winter's evening we had drawn closely around the blazing fire, for the air was piercing cold without, and the snow four feet deep on a level.