ed West, rose up and sat
on his haunches, facing his visitor. Sir Bryan fired and the bear
tumbled over like a ninepin.

Sir Bryan Parkhurst, as became a young Irish baronet, had enjoyed his
share of sensations in life. A year previous he had almost broken his
neck riding across country, and had won the brush into the bargain. He
had once saved a man from drowning on the coast of Cornwall. He had
come into his title unexpectedly, and made his new tenantry adore him.
To crown all, he had, at a still poignantly recent date, practically
refused the hand of an English heiress. But he had never before shot a
bear, nor indeed had he ever seen one outside the Zoo. As he steadfastly
regarded the heap of brown fur, a sinister doubt invaded his mind. Might
it be a cow, after all? Forgetful of the well-established fact in
natural history that cows never sit on their haunches, even with a view
to serving as target to an ambitious sportsman, he cautiously approached
his victim.

It was unquestionably a bear, though not of a terrific aspect. Sir Bryan
examined the lifeless body with the keenest interest. He had seen a
domestic pig which would have weighed more; he had encountered more than
one dog of a more dangerous appearance; yet, when all was said, a bear
was a bear.

Sir Bryan seated himself upon a rock to reflect upon his next step. It
was close upon midday. He thought he must be some eight miles from town.
When he had enjoyed his bear for a few minutes, he would return there
and get some men to come and cart the carcass to town. He would have the
skin removed and cured, and the meat--

"Brian! Brian Boru!"

The words came ringing up the mountain slope in a bell-like soprano. Why
should a bell-like soprano call the name of the old Irish king in this
remote wilderness? Was there witchery at work? Was the bear merely a
part of the phantasmagoria of an enchanted region?

Sir Bryan, undeterred by these suggestions of his fancy, lifted up his
voice and shouted "Hulloo!" and behold! a few minutes later, a horse
came pushing through the scrub-oaks, bearing upon his back an enchanted
princess. As was to be expected of a Colorado princess, enchanted or
otherwise, she had not quite the traditional appearance. In lieu of a
flowing robe of spotless white, she was clad in a plain black skirt and
a shirt waist of striped cambric, while the golden fillet, if such she
wore, was quite concealed by a very jaunty sailor-hat, than which no