Texas Bill came to hold my horse upon our arrival; he was looking rather shy, and ill-at-ease. "What's the matter, Bill? anything gone wrong?" I asked. "Well," he replied, "I hope you won't blame me, as I don't think it right, but you know where you killed a wapiti a couple of days ago, and we found the next morning that the bears had been and buried it; and you said we'd better leave the place quiet for a day, and then you'd go early in the morning, and perhaps find the bears upon the spot? Well, after you were gone with Bob this morning, Jem Bourne proposed that we should go and have a look at the place, and sure enough when we got there we found a great big bear fast asleep, lying on the top of the buried wapiti, and her two half-grown cubs asleep with her. So Jem had your Martini-Henry with him, and he killed the mother stone dead, through the shoulder. Up gets one of the young ones, and hits his brother (or sister) such a whack in the eye with his paw that it just made me laugh, and then he cuffs him again over the head, just as though it was his fault that the mother was knocked over. Jem had reloaded, so he put a bullet through this young fellow; and then putting in another cartridge, he floored the third, and they were all dead in less than a minute. It's a fine rifle is that Martini-Henry, but I think you'll be displeased, as we had no business to go nigh the place; it ain't my fault, and I wouldn't have done it myself, you may be sure." This was a glorious triumph for the jealous Jem Bourne, who was highly offended at my having adopted the advice, and sought the assistance of Bob Stewart, to "jump a bear." We had returned as failures, and he had killed three bears with my rifle, within my sanctuary, which I had specially arranged for a visit upon the following day. He declared "that nobody should stop him from killing bears, as his right was just as good as mine." This poaching upon my preserves was rather too much for my patience, therefore without any discussion or angry words I gave him a note to carry 42 miles' distance on the following morning to a friend of mine at the second ranche. "What horse shall I ride ?" asked the fellow sullenly. "The white mule," I replied. "When am I to come back ?"--"Not till I send for you," was the answer; and Jem Bourne ceased to be a member of our party. This was an excellent example, as many of these people are exceedingly independent, and although he received high wages (120 dollars monthly, in addition to his food, and a horse to ride), he considered that he was quite the equal of his employer. Although my other men received only half these wages, they were more useful, and after this dismissal we were far more comfortable.