damage.

The Rebel was on the opposite side from Stallings and myself, and as
soon as I was freed, he called me around to him, and shifting his rope
to me, borrowed my six-shooter and joined those who were shooting.
Dismounting, he gave the reins of his horse to Flood, walked up to
within fifteen steps of mother bruin, and kneeling, emptied both
six-shooters with telling accuracy. The old bear winced at nearly
every shot, and once she made an ugly surge on the ropes, but the
three guy lines held her up to Priest's deliberate aim. The vitality
of that cinnamon almost staggers belief, for after both six-shooters
had been emptied into her body, she floundered on the ropes with all
her former strength, although the blood was dripping and gushing from
her numerous wounds. Borrowing a third gun, Priest returned to the
fight, and as we slacked the ropes slightly, the old bear reared,
facing her antagonist. The Rebel emptied his third gun into her before
she sank, choked, bleeding, and exhausted, to the ground; and even
then no one dared to approach her, for she struck out wildly with all
fours as she slowly succumbed to the inevitable.

One of the cubs had been roped and afterwards shot at close quarters,
while the other had reached the creek and climbed a sapling which grew
on the bank, when a few shots brought him to the ground. The two cubs
were about the size of a small black bear, though the mother was a
large specimen of her species. The cubs had nice coats of soft fur,
and their hides were taken as trophies of the fight, but the robe of
the mother was a summer one and worthless. While we were skinning the
cubs, the foreman called our attention to the fact that the herd had
drifted up the creek nearly opposite the wagon. During the encounter
with the bears he was the most excited one in the outfit, and was the
man who cut my rope with his random shooting from horseback. But now
the herd recovered his attention, and he dispatched some of us to ride
around the cattle. When we met at the wagon for dinner, the excitement
was still on us, and the hunt was unanimously voted the most exciting
bit of sport and powder burning we had experienced on our trip.

Late that afternoon a forage wagon from Fort Benton passed us with
four loose ambulance mules in charge of five troopers, who were going
on ahead to establish a relay station in anticipation of the trip of
the post commandant to the Blackfoot Agency. There were to be two