rowl at the appearance of the torch and started
for the exit, Budd quietly stepped aside and gave him room to pass, but
the Cinnamon developed individuality in an unexpected direction and
made a grab for Budd's right leg as he passed. Budd threw his leg up
to avoid the grab, lost his balance and fell flat on top of the bear.
Instinctively he caught hold of the thick fur on the bear's hind
quarters with both hands, still holding the torch in his right, but
dropping his gun, and winding his legs about the bear's body he rode
out into the daylight before he hardly knew what had happened.

Mills was ready to shoot when the bear appeared, but seeing his partner
riding the game, he was too much surprised to take the brief chance
offered at the bear's head, and in another instant it was too late. To
fire after the pair had passed was too dangerous, as he might hit the
rider instead of the steed. The Cinnamon, in his first panic, plunged
wildly down the hill, trying to shake off his strange burden, and went
so rapidly that Budd was afraid to let go. But Budd's principal fear
was that the bear would recover his presence of mind and turn upon him,
and his game was to keep the beast on the jump as long as he could,
trusting to chance for a way out of the scrape.

The torch, made of rags soaked in oil, was still blazing in his right
hand. Taking a firmer grip with his legs and a good hold just above
the tail with his teeth, he applied the torch to the bear's rump. This
application and the hair-raising yells of Mills, who was plunging along
madly in the wake, caused an astonishing burst of speed, and the
Cinnamon thundered through the brush like a runaway locomotive on a
down grade, with such lurches and rolls and plunges that Budd dropped
his torch and hung on, tooth and nail, for dear life.

The unfeeling Mills was taking a frivolous view of the case by this
time, and as he strode rapidly along behind, losing ground at every
jump, however, he encouraged Budd and the bear alternately with
flippant remarks: "Stick to him, Budd! Whoaouw! Go it bar!" "You're
the boss bar-buster, old man. Can't buck you off!" "Whoopee
Hellitylarrup!" "Who's bossing that job, Budd; you or the bar?" "Say
Budd, goin' ter leave me here? Give a feller a ride, won't ye?"
"Hi-yi; that's a bully saddle bar!"

[Illustration: A Bully Saddle Bear.]

But Budd was waiting for a chance to dismount, and as the bear rose to
leap a big log in his pat