rivalry at the rattling chase of the señorita. “Two _deers_,” shouted one of the caballeros, “and neither of them to be caught.” We here wheeled into another mountain gorge, which opened into a long irregular vista of savage wildness. A gallop of two or three miles brought us to a spot where the rocky barriers retreated on either hand, shaping out a bowl, in the centre of which stood a cluster of oaks. On the lower limb of one, which threw its giant arm boldly from the rough trunk, a dark object was descried, half lost in the leaves. “A bear, a bear!” shouted our leader, and dashed up to the tree, which was instantly surrounded by the whole troop, “Give us pistols,” exclaimed the señoritas, as bravely in for the sport as the rest. Click, crack! and a storm of balls went through the tree-top. Down came old bruin with one bound into the midst, full of wrath and revenge. The horses instinctively wheeled into a circle, and as bruin sprung for a death-grapple, the lasso of our baccaros, thrown with unerring aim, brought him up all standing. He now turned upon the horse of his new assailant; but that sagacious animal evaded each plunge, and seemed to play in transport about his antagonist. The pistols were out again, and a fresh volley fell thick as hail around the bear. In the smoke and confusion no one could tell where his next spring might be; but the horse of the baccaro knew his duty and kept the lasso taught. Bruin was wounded, but resolute and undaunted; the fire rolled from his red eyes like a flash of lightning out of a forked cloud. Foiled in his plunges at the horse, he seized the lasso in his paws, and in a moment more would have been at his side, but the horse sprung and tripped him, rolling him over and over till he lost his desperate hold on the lasso. The pistols were reloaded, and señoritas and caballeros all dashed up for another shower of fire and lead. As the smoke cleared, bruin was found with the lasso slack, a sure evidence that the horse who managed it knew his antagonist was dead.