with which he made a net of enormous mesh and strength.
He arranged it in such a way, with a line run round the circumference,
that he could draw it together like a purse. With this gigantic affair
on his shoulder, he set off one morning at daybreak into the mountains.
He met the agent, who was an early riser, on the threshold of the
village.

"What! goin' out alone, Little Tim?" he said.

"Yes; b'ars don't like company, as a rule."

"Don't you think I might help you a bit?"

"No, I don't. If you stop where you are, I'll very likely bring the
b'ar home to 'ee. If you go with me, it's more than likely the b'ar
will take you home to her small family!"

"Well, well, have it your own way," returned the agent, laughing.

"I always do," replied the hunter, with a grin.

Proceeding a day's journey into the mountains, our adventurous hunter
discovered the track of a bear, which must, he thought be an uncommonly
large one. Selecting a convenient tree, he stuck four slender poles
into the ground, under one of its largest branches. Over these he
spread his net, arranging the closing rope--or what we may term the
purse-string--in such a way that he could pass it over the branch of the
tree referred to. This done, he placed a large junk of buffalo-meat
directly under the net, and pegged it to the ground.

Thereafter Little Tim ascended the tree, crept out on the large limb
until he reached the spot where the line had been thrown over it,
directly above his net. There, seating himself comfortably among the
branches, he proceeded to sup and enjoy himself, despite the unsavoury
smell that arose from the half-decayed buffalo-meat below.

The limb of the tree was so large and suitable that while a fork of it
was wide enough to serve for a table, a branch which grew upwards formed
a lean to the hunter's back, and another branch, doubling round most
conveniently, formed a rest for his right elbow. At the same time an
abrupt curl in the same branch constituted a rest for his gun. Thus he
reclined in a natural one-armed rustic chair, with his weapons handy,
and a good supper before him.

"What could a man wish more?" he muttered to himself, with a contented
expression of face, as he fixed a square piece of birch-bark in the fork
of the branch, and on this platter arranged his food, commenting thereon
as he proceeded: "Roast prairie hen. Capital grub, with a bit o' salt
pork, though rather dry an' woodeny-like by itself.