Joe’s imagination had several times worked him into a fury, which had as often subsided in disappointment, during the chase below, every particle of which could be distinctly heard from his position. More than once, when a brisk breeze swept up the valley, he was convinced that his enemy was approaching him, and, every nerve quivering with the expectation of the bear coming in view the next instant, he stood a spectacle of eagerness, with perhaps a small portion of apprehension intermingled. At length, from the frequent deceptions the distance practiced upon him, he grew composed by degrees, and resuming his seat on the stone, with his musket lying across his knees, thus gave vent to his thoughts: “What if an Indian were to pounce upon me while I’m sitting here?” Here he paused, and looked carefully round in every direction. “No!” he continued; “if there were any at this time in the neighbourhood, wouldn’t Boone know it? To be sure he would, and here’s my gun—I forgot that. Let them come as soon as they please! I wonder if the bear _will_ come out here? Suppose he does, what’s the danger? Didn’t I grapple with him last night? And couldn’t I jump on Pete and get away from him! But—pshaw! I keep forgetting my gun—I wish he _would_ come, I’d serve him worse than he served me last night! My face feels very sore this morning. There!” he exclaimed, when he heard the fire of Glenn’s gun, and the report that succeeded from Boone’s, “they’ve floored him as dead as a nail, I’ll bet. Hang it! I should like to have had a word or two with him myself, to have told him I hadn’t forgotten his ugly grin. The men must have known I would stand no chance of killing him when they placed me up here. I should like to know what part of the sport _I’ve_ had—ough!” exclaimed he, his hair standing upright, as he beheld the huge bear, panting and bleeding, coming towards him, and not twenty paces distant!