As the sleepiest dog will show signs of great activity when a tea-kettle is tied to his tail, so tired men, finding themselves in a strange forest, will pick up their heels with amazing agility when uncertainty confronts them and the landing is far away. Thus it was that our gait was quite lively, which both pleased and vexed his mother's son, Archibald, who had insisted on carrying the guide's gun since I had mentioned that catamounts came out for their serenade long before sunset. Our course was leading us through heavy timber, when I proposed that we circle around through an opening and started that way, the guide following, Archibald pushed straight through, saying that the barking of dogs proved that we were near the landing. After leaving the woods and climbing part way up the hill, I could see Archibald hurrying through the timber where, on account of the fallen trees, he made but little headway, so I called out to him to come into the opening where the walking was better, to which he replied, "I am not afraid to walk in the woods." At the top of the hill was a berry patch, from which I had full view along the foot of the mountain, where nearby I saw three Indians running towards me with rifles in a position to shoot. Between me and them was a dark ravine, in which dogs were fiercely barking, and knowing they were trying to kill something, I rushed forward to see, when a bouncing black bear whipped around the ledge and over the knoll in the direction of poor Archibald. He was closely pursued by the dogs, to whom old Bruin was often compelled to stop and give battle. When running the dogs were upon his heels, and when he stopped and set up for a fight he would see the gunners and light out again regardless of the dogs. I knew the bear would not hurt Archibald unless in the act of running over him, but I began shouting, "Lookout! Lookout, Archibald! Lookout, there's a bear after you. Run! Run! Run for your life," at which he started running toward me, thinking the bear was coming from the other direction. As the bear ran down the hill with the Indians trying to get a shot at him, I could see both the bear and Archibald approaching each other, while Archibald was looking over his shoulder, so he did not see the bear until he was right upon him, when turning quickly he dropped his gun and lit out unceremoniously. The panorama before me was what the girls call a peach--the shortest, funniest, and most earnest sprinting match ever recorded; Indians chasing dogs, dogs chasing bear, bear chasing Archibald, Archibald running for dear life. Archibald did not take a zigzag course as lightning usually does, but shot straight ahead into the thicket, leaving no evidence of his late departure, but an imaginary wake. The bear, who could not stand the nipping of the dogs, turned again, and as he raised up was shot by one of the Indians.