stand the smell of burning cloth. So he took one of the several clean handkerchiefs he had brought from home, touched a match to it and let it drop on the bear’s nose. That helped some. The bear growled deeper than ever and paused 10 seconds in his climb.     Thus went Farley’s stock of handkerchiefs, but the bits of flame served merely to postpone the dread moment when a bear worth not more than $30 would be lunching on a woodsman who could earn that much in a month, besides board. Farley decided to sacrifice his shirt—his outer shirt. That was more effective. It stayed the bear’s advance fully one minute. Then a red flannel undershirt. About equal results.     Next—but at this moment the camp crew, who had observed the flickers of flame in the tree-top and heard Farley’s yells for help, came along with poles and axes and chased the bear away.     “That’s a true story-every gosh-darned word of it,” says Farley, “and them as don’t take no stock into it can go out there and see what’s left o’ them shirts—jest the buttons, b’-gosh.”