"
He left the squirrel on the ground, but had not gone far when a new idea
struck him and he came back, picked it up, and put it in his game-bag.
"If I show them a squirrel, they can't help believing that I shot him."
The serious question which Herbert had been discussing with himself,
ever since being alone, was what he would do if he should happen to come
upon the bear. He had not quite so much confidence in his gun as he had
when he started out, though the shooting of the squirrel brought back
considerable of his natural assurance.
The conclusion he reached was that it would be just as well if he and
bruin did not meet. Excellent as was his Remington, it was not a
repeating rifle, and he was afraid that one shot, even if well aimed,
would not be enough.
"If I had a Henry, which shoots sixteen shots in sixteen seconds, I
could fill him so full of lead that he couldn't run fast enough to
overtake me if I didn't happen to kill him."
But the Henry, which he desired so much, was beyond his reach, and it
was idle to wish for it.
Accordingly, he slung his gun over his shoulder in true sportsman style,
and strode along the path until the greater part of the distance was
passed, when, like his friends, he found a fallen tree at a convenient
spot and sat down for a rest.
Herbert, in his luxurious home in the city, had become accustomed to
irregular hours, so that it was now the most natural thing in the world
for him to fall asleep and not open his eyes until he shivered with
cold and it was growing dark around him.
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