When he got to his brother-in-law’s cabin, he thought the smell of the fire the best thing he had ever known. The next morning was piercing cold, and he stayed there to hunt, killing two deer for the family. The third day he decided to return, hoping that the ice had frozen so as to help him cross the still places in the sloughs. But time after time he broke through, and when he reached the sloughs and the river he had to go through the same performance as he had when he first crossed them――a feat made even harder by having to cross first with his gun, and then go back for the powder-keg. The ice had been broken as if a bear had gone across, and he at once fresh primed his gun, so that he was ready to “make war upon him,” if he appeared. When Davy reached his home, he was hailed as one risen from the dead. He learned that the ice had been broken by a man sent after him by his distressed wife, who had given up hope of his ever returning. He concludes this incident by saying: “I wasn’t quite dead, but mighty nigh it; but I had my powder, and that was what I went for.” This impatience at delay was one of Davy’s traits. He might easily have managed to subsist until the falling of the water, or until the ice was strong enough to bear him, but he couldn’t wait. It is a sure thing that he celebrated Christmas with a part of the dearly-earned powder. X. THE ELECTION Hunting in the “harricane”――His dream of a big black “nigger”――His dogs bark up the wrong tree――A bear as big as a bull――Davy’s trip to Jackson――Meets some former comrades-in-arms――His name again suggested for the Legislature――He becomes a candidate in hunting coat and coon-skin cap――He is elected a member from his new district――Votes against Jackson’s friend for United States Senator――Old Hickory puts a mark opposite Crockett’s name――In the next election Davy is defeated by Jackson’s influence――Returns to farming again. Davy Crockett in his time was celebrated as the greatest bear-hunter that ever lived. The story of one of his hunts was probably read by almost every man, woman, and child, of his generation, in Tennessee. His own version is by far the best, and is now given word for word as he wrote it. First let the reader understand that Davy’s cabin was near the Rutherford fork of the Obion, on the east side, and just below the “harricane,” where either a great wind-storm or a not uncommon earthquake had laid most of the timber flat. East of the cabin, five or six miles, was the middle or main fork of the Obion. A look at the map will show very nearly the location of his home. The hunt began the morning after he had secured his precious keg of powder. Davy’s story is as follows: