"We were out in the deep forest at the mineral spring the Indians call 'Licton'; the two dogs, Prince and Gyp, treed a black bear cub in a tall fir on the farther side of the brook, a little way along the trail; the hunters pressed up and fired. Receiving a shot, the cub gave a piercing scream and, tumbling down, aroused the old bear, which, though completely hidden by the undergrowth, answered it with an enraged roar that sounded so near that the hunters fled without ceremony. I sat directly in the path, on the ends of some poles laid across the brook for a foot bridge, very calmly resting and not at all excited--as yet. My boy yelled to me, at the top of his voice, 'Get up a tree, mother! get up a tree, quick! The old bear is coming!' Hearing a turmoil at the foot of the big tree, where the dogs, old bear and two cubs were engaged in a general melee, I also thought it best to 'get up a tree.' We dashed across the brook and climbed up a medium sized alder tree--the boy first, myself next, and my husband last and not very far from the ground. We could hear the bear crashing around through the tall bushes and ferns, growling at every step and only a little way off, but she did not come out in sight. The dogs came and lay down under the tree where we were. Two long, weary hours we watched for Bruin, and then, everything being quiet, climbed down, stiff and sore, parted the brushes cautiously and reconnoitered. One climbed up a leaning tree to get a better view, but there was no view to be had, the woods were so thick. We crept along softly until we reached the foot of the big fir, and there lay the wounded cub, dead! The hunters dragged it a long distance, looking back frequently and feeling very uncertain, as they had no means of knowing the whereabouts of the enemy. I walked behind carrying one of the guns. Perhaps I was cruel in asking them if they looked behind them when they tacked the skin on the barn at home! However, it was certainly a case of discretion better than valor, as one weapon was only a shotgun and the rank undergrowth gave no advantage. It seemed to make everybody laugh when we told of our adventure, but I did not think the experience altogether amusing, and I shall never forget that mother-bear's roar. They have killed plenty of big game since; my two younger boys shot a fine, large black bear whose beautiful skin adorns my parlor floor and is much admired." This is but one incident in the life of a pioneer woman, the greater portion of whose existence has been spent in the wilds of the Northwest. In perils oft, in watchings many, in often uncongenial toil, Louisa Boren Denny spent the years of her youth and prime, as did the other pioneer mothers.