He did this because he
knew that if we wounded the bear and he descended there was going to be
a fight, and he didn't want to lose his valuable dogs in an experiment.
He had his gun to take care of himself, and Young and I were supposed
to stand our share of the adventure as best we could.
Keen with anticipation of unexpected surprises; wondering, yet willing
to take a chance, we prepared to shoot our first bear. We stationed
ourselves some thirty yards from the base of the tree. The bear was
about seventy-five feet up in the air, facing us, looking down and
exposing his chest.
We drew our arrows together and a second later released as one man.
Away flew the two shafts, side by side, and struck the beast in the
breast, not six inches apart. Like a flash, they melted into his body
and disappeared forever. He whirled, turned backward, and began sliding
down the tree.
Ripping and tearing the trunk, he descended almost as if falling, a
shower of bark preceding him like a cartload of shingles. Tom shouted,
"You missed him, run up close and shoot him again!" From his side of
the tree he couldn't see that our arrows had hit and gone through, also
he was used to seeing bear drop when he hit them with a bullet.
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