"Tenderfeet," as our readers probably know, is the expressive term applied out West to new-comers, or greenhorns. When such men meet Bruin, or Bruin meets them, there is apt to be trouble sometimes ending in tragedy, sometimes in the broadest comedy. The instances here given belong to the latter category, and will be found extremely amusing. AN EVENING CALL. BY ERNEST LAW. It was June, 1906, and I was working at a small portable sawmill near Armstrong, British Columbia. George (the boss), Frank, "Texas," Jim, and myself made the entire crew. "Texas" was so called because of his frequent references to the State of his birth. For myself, being English, I was dubbed "Charlie," though it wasn't my proper name. We had rigged up a fairly decent shack, and, with Jim at the head of the culinary department, managed to make ourselves pretty comfortable. The country round was well settled and we were only about six miles from Armstrong, a rapidly-growing town. There was plenty of bush-land about, however, some of it very rough, and deer, coyotes, and cougars were frequently seen, but seldom a bear. On the evening I am writing about Frank had ridden into town directly after supper to "have a good time," as he expressed it, and we didn't expect him back till early morning. The rest of us were sitting around telling yarns. "Texas" was giving us something extra fine concerning his good work with a gun. He could usually hold his own at story-telling, could "Texas," but Jim, in particular, always openly doubted him. On this occasion he related how he had once bagged a doe and two fawns with a single shot. Jim guffawed incredulously, and was rewarded with a look of mild reproach. "Any o' you fellers seen them bear tracks t'other side the creek?" asked George, suddenly. No one had. "When did you strike them, George?" asked "Texas." "Just this morning, when I was waterin' the cayuse. They looked kind of fresh, too." Now, George was a quiet sort of fellow, but I fancy he knew as much about hunting as the rest of us put together, and wasn't taking much notice of the boasting. "What do you say to a hunt, Jim?" I ventured. "No, sir; not me," replied Jim, hastily. "I ain't lost no bear." "You're not scared of a brown bear, surely, Jim?" observed the Texan, with a grin. "Well," said Jim, "if there were three bears I'd maybe look around and have a plug at them, but I don't waste no shell on just one ornery bear." "No, I guess not," said "Texas," dryly. "D'you ever _see_ a live bear?" pursued Jim, offensively. "Well, I guess I've shot more bear than _you've_ ever seen, Jim," retorted the American. "Maybe you'll hunt this one for us, then," suggested Jim, sarcastically. "We're all dead scared to sleep here." "If I run across him at all, I guess there'll be a dead bear around mighty quick," replied "Texas."