Harrington grabbed his gun and hurried out.

He was just in time to see a big bear throw one of our oxen and proceed with the work of butchering him.
He fired, and the bear, slightly wounded, left the ox and turned his attention to his assailant.

He was leaping at my partner, growling savagely when I, gun in hand, rounded the corner of the shack.

I took the best aim I could get in the dark, and the bear, which was within a few feet of my friend, rolled over dead.
Making sure that he was past harming us we turned our attention to the poor bull, but he was too far gone to recover, and another bullet put him out of his misery.
We were now left without a team, and two hundred miles from home.

But wealth in the shape of pelts was accumulating about us, and we determined to stick it out till spring.