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Neither me nor Old-pot-head's son would care to take our oaths whether we'd been there a night an' half a day, or half a dozen nights an' days; the night time an' the day time was so mixed up together that we hadn't time to separate 'em. We were sure, tho', that our grub was givin' out, the water was dryin' up, an' death was gettin' good an' ready for us.
Billy was sitting cross-legged upon his caribou robe; and, as he turned the browning bannocks before the fire, he continued: "Well, as I was sayin', me an' Old-pot-head's son once had a go with a great big black bear away up on the Peace River. But, don't you forget it, Billy Brass didn't lose the packet."
"Just then I heard Old-pot-head's son shout, 'Keep still, Bill, it's a big black bear. I grabs the edges o' me blanket an' pulls 'em in under me so hard I thinks I've bust it. But the bear keeps on maulin' me, an' givin' me such hard swats that I began to fear it'd cave in me ribs." "But, Billy, why didn't you shoot it?" asked the Reverend Mr. Wilson. "Shoot?
It was no laffin' matter, for I knowed if I didn't drive the brute off in a jiffy Old-pot-head's son would be a comin' out of his trance mighty sudden an' that meant a catch-as-catch-can with a great, big, crazy black bear. "As good luck would have it, the next time I threw a stone, it landed on the tip of the bear's snout, an' with a snarl he comes for me.
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