A SET-TO WITH A GRIZZLY. Buffalo Bill had decided, while awaiting the day of his appointment with Little Moonbeam, to scout a bit in the mountains to the west of the fort. He believed there were Indian villages located in the fastnesses of the Big Horn range, and from these the numerous war parties sallied forth on their expeditions of plunder and rapine. If these villages could be discovered, and the Indians punished and driven back to their reservations, the lives and property of many settlers might be saved. The scout was convinced that the raids were mostly to be laid at the door of a few daring and bloodthirsty chiefs like Rain-in-the-face. If these leaders could be captured and punished, the cause of peace would be promoted. “Waal, ov all ther ringtail-peelin’, sidehill loungers I ever seen, ther b’ar thet tore round hyar wuz ther plumb biggest. Look et thet paw mark, Buffler, an’ see what yer think ov et.” “Yah, yah! dat ain’ nuffin, Nick. Why! down in ole Virginy de possums make bigger tracks ’n dat dar grizzly done leab. Go way, dar, Nick! yo’ eyes been er magnifigetin’ circumspiciously. H’m! dat lib b’ar git ’is head kicked off if he come nigh ole Hide-rack.” “Nomad heap ’fraid; bear all same raccoon,” put in Little Cayuse. Buffalo Bill and Hickok grinned at the “kidding” of the old trapper, but offered no comment. They kept their eyes open for the appearance of the animal that had made the track, for he certainly must be a monster. The pards were riding in the foothills of the Big Horn range, looking for signs of an Indian encampment and also a little sport, if it came their way. They had found no signs of Indians since leaving the plain, but evidences of bear were plentiful. The party separated slightly, keeping always within hailing distance, but beating the bush as their horses picked their way over the uneven footing. Presently there was a shot, followed by eight more as fast as old Skibo could pump his Spencer carbine, and then there was a wild whoop, a crashing of the underbrush, and Skibo’s horse went plunging down the bluff, with the darky clinging for dear life and an enormous grizzly in close pursuit. The pards saw that it would be serious for the colored member if he should be swept from his terrified horse, which was making for the open land with all the speed it could muster with a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound negro on its back. “Bear heap plenty bigger caballo,” said Cayuse, as he turned in pursuit. The other pards dashed down the mountain with as much speed as was consistent with the rough footing. As they burst through a thicket of evergreen near the foot of the mountain they obtained a good view of Skibo clinging with his arms around the neck of his horse, which was still dashing madly out upon the plain, and the wounded bear shacking after at his best speed. Then old Nomad arose to the occasion.