that of my
horse. Again I had rise up before my mind the spectacle of opposing
forces--the elemental in man restrained by the spiritual. Then the old
haunting thought returned to vex me--man in his development needed the
exercise of brawn, muscle, bone red-blood, violence, labor and pain
and agony. Nature recognized only the survival of the fittest of
any species. If a man allowed a spiritual development, intellect,
gentleness, to keep him from all hard, violent action, from tremendous
exertion, from fierce fight with elements and beasts, and his own
kind--would he not soon degenerate as a natural physical man?
Evolution was a stern inevitable seeking of nature for perfection,
for the unattainable. This perfection was something that lived and
improved on strife. Barbarians, Indians, savages were the most
perfect specimens of nature's handiwork; and in proportion to their
development toward so-called civilized life their physical prowess and
perfectness--that was to say, their strength to resist and live and
reproduce their kind--absolutely and inevitably deteriorated.

My reflection did not carry me at that time to any positive
convictions of what was truest and best. The only conclusions I
eventually arrived at were that I was sore and bruised and dirty and
torn--that I would be happy if the bear got away--that I had lost my
mean horse and was glad therefore--that I would have half a dozen
horses and rifles upon my next hunt--and lastly that I would not be in
any hurry to tell about mistaking a steer for a bear, and climbing a
tree. Indeed these last facts have been religiously kept secret until
chronicled here.

Shortly afterward, as I was making a lame and slow headway toward
Horton Thicket, where I hoped to find a trail out, I heard Edd
yelling, and I answered. Presently we met. He was leading my horse,
and some of the hounds, notably Old Tom and Dan, were with him.

"Where's the bear?" I asked.

"He got away down in the breaks," replied Edd. "George is tryin' to
call the hounds back. What happened to you? I heard you shoot."

"My horse didn't care much for me or the brush," I replied. "He left
me--rather suddenly. And--I took a shot at what I thought was a bear."

"I seen him once," said Edd, with eyes flashing. "Was just goin' to
smoke him up when he jumped out of sight."

My mortification and apprehension were somewhat mitigated when I
observed that Edd was dirty, ragged, and almost as much disheveled as