So noiselessly that even the chipmunk did not notice him, Snap slipped off the log and knelt down behind it, resting the barrel of his Winchester on the log, determined to begin to shoot as soon as the feet of the foe, now drawing rapidly nearer and nearer, should bring him into an opening amongst the big trees. Crunch! crunch! came the steps, and Snap's finger was on the trigger. Next moment a big black mass would push through the bushes, the report of the rifle would ring out, and then through the smoke what would Snap see: his first bear rolling on the ground, or a great and hideous death, all teeth and claws, coming straight at him, rather faster than the 'Flying Dutchman?' As these thoughts coursed through his brain, and his heart ached with suppressed excitement, a voice sang out, 'Halloh, don't you shoot! Bust my gizzard, why, what in thunder do you take me for?' and the next minute Atkins, hot and tired, plodded out into the open, and let a great black skin slide heavily down on to the ground at his feet. To those who have never had a chance of comparing the footfall of a bear with that of a man, Snap's mistake may seem ridiculous; but even Atkins, whose life had been in serious danger, readily forgave the boy, stipulating only that for the future he should never 'draw a bead until he knew not only what he was shooting at, but what part of it he was trying to hit.' Many a grievous accident would be avoided in this way, and not one head of big game lost per annum by it; for, even if the coat you see passing through the thick timber be that of a beast of chase, it is almost a certainty that a snap-shot at it will only end in a useless wound given to some unfortunate hind, or a scratch with very bad results to the shooter if it happen to be given to a bad-tempered old grizzly. If, by ill-luck, the coat is that of a man, it is 'a mountain to a molehill' that you shoot him dead on the spot. If any boy ever goes big-game shooting after reading my book, let him take an old hunter's advice, 'Know what you are shooting at before you shoot.' 'How many times did you shoot at this fellow, Snap?' asked Atkins. 'About three times at him, and twice where I thought he ought to be,' replied the boy, turning over the skin of his first bear with a loving hand. The skin was bright and in good order, and the fur deep and thick. 'Well,' laughed Atkins, 'I guess you hit him quite as often as was necessary, though, according to what you say, you must have missed him four times. I reckon you must have hit him when you were shooting at the place where he ought to have been, for the bullet has gone in behind and travelled all up him. Never mind,' he added, 'it will make a rare good robe for you this winter!' 'You have had a good tramp, Atkins, let me carry the skin,' said Snap, and Atkins, with a smile, consented.