It was one fall, over on Pike's Hill.

The snow had come earlier than usual, and this old bear hadn't got into his den for his winter's sleep.

A lot of us started out after him.

The hill was covered with beech trees, and he'd been living all the fall on the nuts, till he'd got as fat as butter.

We took dogs and worried him, and ran him from one place to another, and shot at him, till at last he dropped.