But the monotony
of the long ride was broken that afternoon by our first sight, as a
party, of a bear.
[Illustration: _Mountain miles: The trail up Swiftcurrent Pass, Glacier
National Park_]
It came out on a ledge of the mountain, perhaps three hundred yards
away, and proceeded, with great deliberation, to walk across a
rock-slide. It paid no attention whatever to us and to the wild
excitement which followed its discovery. Instantly, the three junior
Rineharts were off their horses, and our artillery attack was being
prepared. At the first shot, the pack-ponies went crazy. They lunged and
jumped, and even Buddy showed signs of strain, leaping what I imagine to
be some eleven feet in the air and coming back on four rigid knees.
Followed such a peppering of that cliff as it had never had before.
Little clouds of rock-dust rose above the bear, in front of him, behind
him, and below him. He stopped, mildly astonished, and looked around.
More noise, more bucking on the trail, more dust. The bear walked on a
trifle faster.
It had been arranged that the first bear was to be left for the juniors.
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