"I don't know; but I shot pretty near straight up at the grouse, and somehow the gun slipped off my shoulder and done this." And opening his coat he showed his vest, one side of which was split from top to bottom; he then took out a handful of his watch and held it up--one case was torn off, the crystal smashed, the dial caved in, and the running gear all mixed up. The ranchman said he guessed he had put one of the buckskin bags of shot into that barrel, and forgetting that fact, had added the loose charge. He said he reckoned twenty-four No. 2 buckshot made too heavy a load for an eight-pound gun.
We reached "Peavine Jimmy's" mining cabin, which was to be our camp, at three o'clock in the afternoon, and busied ourselves till dark in the usual duties of cooking, eating, and gathering wood. Old Billy proved a very interesting character; he is a simple, quiet, honest, unpretentious old man, and unlike most backwoodsmen, a veritable coward. He has the rare good sense, however, to admit it frankly, and thus disarms criticism. In fact, his frequent admission of this weakness is amusing. He says that for fear of getting lost he does not like to go off a trail when hunting, unless there is snow on the ground, so that he can track himself back into camp. He rides an old buckskin pony that is as modest and gentle as its master. Billy says he often gets lost when he does venture away from the trail, but in such cases he just gives old Buck the rein, hits him a slap, and tells him to go to camp and he soon gets there. He told us a bear story that night, worthy of repetition. Something was said that reminded him of it, and he mentioned it, but added, modestly, that he didn't know as we cared for any bear stories. But we said we were very fond of them, and urged the recital.
"Well, then," he said, "if you will wait a minute, I'll take a drink of water first and then I'll tell it to you," and he laughed a kind of boyish titter, and began:
"Well, me and three other fellers was up north in the Colville country, huntin', and all the other fellows was crazy to kill a bear. I didn't want to kill no bear, and didn't expect to. I'm as 'feard as death of a bear, and hain't no use for 'em. All I wanted to kill was a deer. The other fellers, they wanted to kill some deer, too, but they wanted bear the worst. So one mornin' we all started out, and the other fellers they took the best huntin' ground, and said I'd better go down along the creek and see if I couldn't kill some grouse, for they didn't believe I could kill any thing bigger'n that; and I said, all right, and started off down the creek. Purty soon I come to an old mill that wasn't runnin' then. And when I got purty near to the mill I set down on a log, for I didn't think it was worth while to go any furder, for I didn't think I would find any game down the creek, and I didn't care much whether I did or not. Well, I heard a kind of a racket in the mill, and durned if there wasn't a big black bear right in the mill. And I watched him a little bit, and he started out towards me. And I said to myself, says I, 'Now Billy, here's your chance to kill a bear.'