Chapter IV: Part 4

A grizzly that I was following one November morning was evidently well fed, for he traveled slowly along with apparently nothing to do. Descending the ridge on which he had been walking, he came upon the side of a steep southern slope, across the ravine from where I had paused to watch him. Occasionally a bush or weed sprang up as the warm sun released it from its little burden of snow. If it was close to him, he reached out one paw and stroked or boxed it daintily and playfully as a kitten; or, if a few feet away, he stopped, turned his head to one side, and looked at it with lazy, curious interest. He turned for a better glimpse of a tall willow springing up as if inviting him to play and appeared just ready to respond when he caught sight of his moving dark-blue shadow against the white slope. Instantly, reaching out lightly with one fore paw, he commenced to play with the shadow. As it dodged, he tried to reach it with the other paw, then stopped to look at it. He sat down and watched it intently, ready to strike it if it moved; he pushed his nose closer to it. Keeping his eyes on the shadow, with a sudden leap he threw both fore paws forward and brought them down where the shadow had been before his move. For several seconds he leaped and struck right and left in his vain efforts to catch it. Then, seated on his haunches, he watched the shadow out of one eye. He turned his head, possibly wondering what the shadow would do. He seemed surprised to find that it was not behind him, and turned back quickly to see where it was. Did the grizzly know what this shadow-thing was, and was all this just jolly make-believe? In any case, he was playing and playing merrily. When I first watched him he reminded me of a kitten, but the longer he played the more his actions resembled those of a puppy and finally those of dog.

As the grizzly backed slowly down the slope, he watched the shadow following him, and made a feint as though about to grab it, but stopped. Slowly he started after the shadow up the slope, then pursued it with a rush. Then, backing away along the side of the slope, he watched the shadow out of the corner of his eye. He suddenly stopped and stood as though thinking; then wheeled, faced down the slope, and looked off into the distance. After a second he slowly turned his head and looked over first one shoulder, then the other, for the shadow. Finally, rising, he looked between his legs.

Leisurely he lay down with head toward the sun and put fore paws over his eyes as though starting a game of hide-and-seek and expected the shadow to hide. But this may have been to shut the dazzling sun-glare from his eyes, for presently he moved his head to one side to watch the shadow.

Abruptly he ended, rose to his feet, and started off briskly in the direction he was traveling in when the blue shadow upon the snow coaxed him to stop and play.

Generally the grizzly plays alone. Most animals play with one or many others of their species. Three or four times I have seen a lone grizzly playing much after the manner of a dog--playing with himself as it were. He ran round and round in a small circle, alternating this with leaping into the air and dodging about, and rolling on his back with feet waving in the air. He ended the play with a lively and enthusiastic chase of his tail.

The two cubs that I raised were always eager for play. They played with each other, they were ready at all times to play with me, and occasionally one of them played with my dog Scotch. Grizzlies in captivity will sometimes play with their keeper. Perhaps they would do so more frequently if they liked the keeper. Sometimes pet bears will play with strangers. They are ready to seize an opportunity for brief play and in this, as with the man who was impersonating bears, they often show a sense of humor; and they sometimes imitate or mock the actions of some other animal.

An outing in northwestern Arizona gave me fresh glimpses into grizzly life, although I had not expected to see grizzlies. I found them apparently at home with heat and sand in the edge of a desert. Perhaps these bears were only visitors. They were not dwarfed by the harsh conditions but appeared similar to grizzlies of other localities.

I was sheltered to the leeward of a rock-outcrop waiting for a roaring desert windstorm to subside. As I looked off into the dusty distance, a brown, dust-covered grizzly came into view. He climbed up and sat down upon a large sand-dune and looked around evidently glad that things were clearing. He watched closely a dust spiral which came spinning across the clear sky. As it passed close to him, a withered cactus-lobe dropped from it upon the dune, turned over once or twice, and then rolled down the slope. The grizzly took after it, striking out with right fore paw; but, missing, was upon it with a plunge. Picking the cactus up cautiously in his teeth, he held it for a second, then with a jerk of his head tossed it into the air and pursued it. The sloping sand-dune caved and slid beneath him. Forgetting the cactus, he leaped along the crumbling sand and made a number of lunges, each followed by a dive and an abrupt stop on the sand. He ran in a circle round the crest of the dune several times, occasionally coming to a sudden stop. Then, sliding down the dune, suddenly stopped his play.

He stood still at the foot of the dune for several seconds and looked off into the distance. He was debating what he should do next. Off he started slowly toward the horizon. Into the edge of the mysterious landscape of a mirage he walked and vanished. I thought him lost and rose to move on, when a purple shadowy landscape pushed up into the sky and in this strange, dim scene a giant shadowy grizzly raced and played.

Play is a common habit of animals. Darwin, Wallace, and others have emphasized its importance as a progressive evolutionary factor in the survival of the fittest. Play is rest and relaxation; it gives power and proficiency; it stimulates the brain to the highest pitch of keenness and arouses all the faculties to be eager and at their best; it develops the individual. Play not only is a profound advantage to the player, but is necessary to the requirements of an efficient life.

All alert animals freshen themselves with play. The human race is beginning to do intelligently what it once did instinctively; it is relearning the lost art, the triumphant habit, of play.

Matching Wits with the Grizzly

In April, 1904, "Old Mose," an outlaw grizzly, was killed on Black Mountain, Colorado. For thirty-five years he had kept up his cattle-killing depredations. During this time he was often seen and constantly hunted, and numerous attempts were made to trap him. His home territory was about seventy-five miles in diameter and lay across the Continental Divide. He regularly killed cattle, horses, sheep, and hogs in this territory, and, so far as known, did not leave this region even briefly. Two missing toes on his left hind foot were the means of identifying his track.

Old Mose killed at least five men and eight hundred cattle, together with dozens of colts and other live stock. His damage must have exceeded thirty thousand dollars. Often he smashed the fences that were in his way. He had a fiendish habit of slipping up on campers or prospectors, then rushing into their camp with a roar, and he evidently enjoyed the stampedes thus caused. On these occasions he made no attempt to attack. Although he slaughtered stock to excess, he never went out and attacked people. The five men whom he killed were men who had cornered him and were attempting to kill him.

Rarely do grizzlies kill cattle or big game. Old Mose was an exception. None of the other grizzlies in the surrounding mountains killed live stock. During his last years Old Mose was followed at a distance by a "cinnamon" bear of large size. This grizzly had nothing to do with the killing, never associated with Old Mose, but simply fed on the abundance which he left behind.

A heavy price on his head led the most skillful hunters and trappers to try for Old Mose. Three of the best hunters were killed by him. All trapping schemes failed; so, too, did attempts to poison. Finally he was cornered by a pack of dogs, and the hunter ended his career with the eighth shot.

Though Old Mose was forty or more years of age when killed, his teeth were sound, his fur was in good condition, and he had every appearance of being in excellent health. He was apparently good for several years more of vigorous life.

Trapping the grizzly has become a non-essential occupation. It is a waste of energy, because rarely successful. Now and then a bear is trapped, but it is usually a young bear of but little experience, a mother who is trying to protect her cubs, or a bear whose momentary curiosity caused him to forget his customary caution.

Formerly it was not difficult to trap a grizzly. But he quickly learned to avoid the menace of traps. The bear sees through all the camouflage of the trapper. Deodorized and concealed traps, traps near the bait and far from it, traps placed singly and in clusters--these, and even the slender concealed string of a spring gun, he usually detects and avoids.

I spent a number of days with a trapper who felt certain that he would secure the thousand-dollar reward for the capture of an outlaw cattle-killing grizzly. Earlier than usual the cattlemen drove the cattle from the summer range. The trapper took an old cow to a selected spot near the end of a gulch, picketed her, and surrounded her with spring guns and traps. The outer line of defense consisted of three spring guns which guarded three avenues of approach to the cow. The strings to these guns were of silk line stretched over bushes and tall grass so as to be inconspicuous. As the bear would be likely to seize the cow's head or neck, a trap was set between her head and a large bowlder near by. There was a trap on each side of the cow and one behind her.

The first night there was a light fall of snow, but no bear. But the second night he came. Tracks showed that he scented or heard the cow from afar--more than a mile away--and came straight for her. He stopped within two feet of the silk line and walked cautiously round it until he completed the circuit. But there was no opening. He then leaped the line--something I had never before heard of a bear doing. He approached the cow, then walked round her; he went close to the traps and detected just where each one was concealed. Then, between the trap in front and the one on the left, he seized and killed the cow. After feeding on her he dragged the carcass across two traps and left it. Leaping the line again, he went off down stream in the gulch.

The trapper reset the traps the following day and placed an additional one just inside the line, at the point where the grizzly had leaped over it. Then, some distance down stream, he strung a line across the gulch and attached a spring gun to one end of the line.

The grizzly returned that night, coming down the gulch. After walking the lines around the carcass, and apparently having detected the new trap inside, he leaped the line at another point. He avoided the traps and ate about half the remainder of the carcass. Then he piled a few dead logs on what was left, leaped the line again, and went down the gulch. He stopped within ten or twelve feet of the line here and followed it along to where it connected with the rifle on the side of the gulch. Walking round the rifle, he went back into the gulch and followed his trail of the preceding night.

The trapper, amazed, vowed vengeance. He made haste and built a log pen around the remains of the carcass. He then set two traps in the entrance of the pen, one in front of the entrance and one inside the pen.

The second night following, the bear returned, leaped over the line, and cautiously approached the pen. The bowlder formed part of the rear end of this. Climbing on top of the bowlder, the bear tore off the upper part of the pen, which rested on the bowlder, and then, from the bowlder, without getting into the pen, reached down and dragged up the carcass. In doing this one of the poles which had been torn out of place and thrown to one side struck the top of a stump, turned over, and fell across the line attached to a spring gun. This fired its waiting shot. Then the grizzly did this astounding thing. He appears to have been on top of the bowlder when the shot was fired, but he descended, made his way to the smelly gun, and then examined it, the snow being tracked up in front of it. Returning to the carcass, he dragged it off the bowlder and ate the last mouthful. Leaving the bones where they lay, he walked across the line where the pole rested on it and went off up the gulch.

A grizzly is wary for the preservation of his life. It is generally a triumph of stalking to get within short range of him. His senses detect danger afar. He will sometimes hear the stealthy approach of a hunter at the distance of a quarter of a mile, and under favorable conditions he will scent a man at a distance of a mile or more. Being ever on guard, and generally in a place where he can scout with scent, sight, or hearing, he usually manages to keep out of range or under cover. It is not uncommon for two or three hunters in different parts of bear territory, searching with field-glasses, watching from high places, taking advantage of the wind, and moving silently, to spend a week without even seeing a bear, although bears were about. Many times, even when trailed with dogs, through his brains, his endurance, and his ability to move rapidly over rough territory, the grizzly escapes being cornered.

I have often been in bear territory for days without seeing one. Then again I have seen two or more in a few hours. Frequently I have been able to watch a grizzly at moderately short range for an hour or longer. I was chiefly concerned to get near enough to study his actions, and not to take a shot, as I trailed without a gun. But many a day I have failed to see a grizzly, though I searched carefully in a territory which I knew and where the habits of the individual bears were somewhat known to me.

A grizzly territory is covered with a web of dim trails over which he usually travels. If surprised, the grizzly turns and retreats over the trail on which he was advancing. A bear's trail, close behind him, is a dangerous place to be in if he does retreat. Many a hunter, a few feet off the trail, has had the alarmed bear rush by without noticing him, while others, who were directly on the trail, have been run over or assailed by the bear.

When in a trap or cornered, a wounded grizzly sometimes feigns death. Apparently, when he considers his situation desperate, he sees in this method the possibility of throwing his assailant off his guard. A trapper once invited me to go the rounds with him along his string of traps. In one of these was a young grizzly. At short range the hunter fired two shots and the bear fell in a heap.

We advanced within a few feet and saw that the bear was bleeding freely, but halted "to be sure he was dead." "I make it a point," said the hunter, "to wait until a bear dies before I start skinning him. Once I made the mistake of putting down my rifle and starting to skin the bear before he was dead."

We stepped forward, and the hunter prodded the bear with the end of the rifle-barrel. Like a jumping-jack the bear sprang at the hunter, knocked him over backwards, tore a hole through his clothing, and ripped a bad wound in his skin on the thigh. Fortunately the chain and clog on the trap held the bear from following up his assault.

On another occasion I was with a party of mounted hunters with dogs who chased a grizzly out of his territory and cornered him in a deep box cañon. He was at bay and the excited dogs were harrying him as we came up. He stood in the end of the cañon, facing out, evidently watching for an opportunity to escape. He discouraged all attacks by his swift and cool-headed defense. If a bush stirred behind he made a feint to strike. If a dog came close to his side he appeared to strike without looking. He did not allow any rear movements or attacks to divert his attention from the front, where the hunters stood at short range with rifles ready. They waited for a chance to shoot without hitting a dog. Suddenly the grizzly charged and all was confusion. With a stroke of fore paw he broke the jaw of one horse, with another stroke he caved in three ribs of another horse, he bit and broke a man's arm, disemboweled one dog and wrecked another, and made his safe get-away. Not a shot had been fired. There was no pursuit.

While with three hunters, I once came close upon a grizzly who was digging for mice. The hunters opened fire. For seconds the cañon walls crashed and echoed from the resounding rattling gunnery. Thirty or forty shots were fired. The bear escaped. A hunter took up the trail and the following day ran down the bear and killed him. He carried no wounds except the one from the shot fired by this hunter. He weighed perhaps five hundred pounds.

But the story of the shooting as told by one of the first three hunters was something like this: "We came upon the largest grizzly that I had ever seen. He must have weighed fifteen hundred pounds or more. He was busy digging in an opening and didn't see us until we opened on him at short range. As we had time, we aimed carefully, and each of us got in several shots before he reached the woods. He ran with as much strength as if nothing had happened; yet we simply filled him full of lead--made a regular lead mine of him."

The grizzly is not an exceedingly difficult animal to kill if shot in a vital spot--in the upper part of the heart, in the brain, or through the centre of the shoulder into the spine. Hunters too often fire aimlessly, or become so frightened that they do not even succeed in hitting the bear, though firing shot after shot in his general direction.

William H. Wright once killed five bears with five shots in rapid succession. I was with a hunter in a berry-patch when four grizzlies fell with four lightning-like shots. George McClelland in Wyoming killed nine bears inside of a minute. He probably fired sixteen shots. These were grizzlies, two of which were cubs.

During the last few seconds of his life, after the grizzly receives a fatal wound, he sometimes fights in an amazingly effective and deadly manner. As an old bear-hunter once said, "the grizzly is likely to do a lot of execution after he is nominally dead." Hundreds of hunters have been wounded and scores of others killed by grizzlies which they were trying to kill or capture. Hundreds of others have escaped death or serious injury by extremely narrow margins.

A grizzly appears to have caused the death of the first white man to die within the bounds of Colorado. This happened on the plains in the eastern part of the State. Seeing the grizzly in the willows near camp, the man went out to kill him. The wounded grizzly knocked him down and mauled him so severely that he died.

In southern Colorado I saw a frightened hunter on horseback pursued by a mother grizzly. He was chasing her cubs, when she suddenly charged him. The horse wheeled and ran. Although the hunter urged the horse to its utmost, the bear was almost upon them when his dogs rushed in and distracted her.

Hunters claim that if a man feign death when knocked down by a grizzly he is not likely to be injured. James Capen Adams appears to have saved himself a number of times by this method. I have not had occasion to try the experiment.

An old bear-hunter told me that he once saved himself from what seemed to be certain death, in a most unusual manner. A grizzly knocked him sprawling, then leaped upon him to chew him up. In falling, however, the hunter had grabbed up a stone. With this he struck the bear a smashing blow on the tip of his nose as the bear landed upon him. The bear backed off with a roar of pain. This gave the hunter opportunity to seize his rifle and fire a fatal shot.

Three or four men who have been severely bitten and shaken by grizzlies have testified that they felt no pain at the time from these injuries. I cannot account for this. Livingstone, the African explorer, also states that he felt no pain when a lion was chewing him.

I once witnessed a grizzly-roping in Montana that had rare fighting and adventure in it. Two cowboys pursued a grizzly nearly to camp, when several others came riding out with whirling ropes seeking fun. They roped the bear; but a horse was pulled off his feet and dragged, a cowboy was ditched into a bunch of cactus, another cowboy lost his saddle, the cinches giving way under the strain, and a horse struck in the flank had to be shot. Meantime the bear got away and stampeded the entire herd of cattle.

Bear stories have a fascination all their own. Here is one of five men who were hunting in northwestern Montana, a section of high and rugged mountain-peaks, snow-fields, and glaciers, well-nigh inaccessible, and wholly uninhabited save by wild animals. Two of the men went off to a distant glacier-basin for big game, separating and going on opposite sides of a ridge. One of them after a steep climb came upon a grizzly cub, so large as to appear full-grown except to the most careful observer. He killed the bear with three cartridges from his Mauser rifle, and then, leaning the rifle against a rock, stooped over to examine his prize. Suddenly he heard a fearsome cry and a swift rush. Turning, he saw the mother bear coming for him and not more than sixty feet away.

Springing to his rifle, he put two steel-clad bullets into the grizzly, emptying his gun. With remarkable coolness he slipped in another cartridge and sent a third bullet into her. But Mauser bullets are small and an enraged grizzly is a hard thing to stop. The three bullets did not stop this mother bear, frantic at the sight of her dead cub. With one stroke of her paw she knocked the hunter into a gulch, eight feet below. Then she sprang down after him, caught him in her mouth, shook him as a dog might shake a doll, and dropped him. She caught him up again, his face between her tusks, shook him, and again dropped him. A third time she snatched him up. But now the little Mauser bullets had done their work, and she fell dead across the hunter's feet.

It was high time, for the man was in little better condition than the bear. His scalp and cheek and throat were torn open, there were five gaping wounds in his chest, his thigh bore an irregular tear two or three inches wide from which the flesh hung in ragged strips, and his left wrist was broken and the bones protruding through the twisted flesh. His companion, alarmed by the six shots, hurried to the hunter. He bound up his wounds, set him on a horse, guided him for two hours across country without a trail, and got him to camp at nightfall. But to save the man's life it was necessary to get him to the railroad in short order. He was put on a horse with a man on each side to support him, and for eleven hours the party climbed down the five miles through forest and jungle, cutting their way as they went. At dark, completely exhausted, they flagged a limited train. The hunter was hurried to a hospital and operated upon and his life saved.

The man with a gun is a specialist. He is looking for a particular thing in order to kill it. Generally the gun hampers full enjoyment of the wilderness. The hunter misses most of the beauty and the glory of the trail. If he stops to enjoy the pranks of other animals, or to notice the color of cloud or flower, he will miss his opportunity to secure his game. When at last he is within range of a bear, it may scent him and be off at any minute, so he must shoot at once. He learns but little of the character of the animal.

Trailing the grizzly without a gun is the very acme of hunting. The gunless hunter comes up close, but he lingers to watch the bear and perhaps her cubs. He sees them play. Often, too, he has the experience of seeing wilderness etiquette when other bears or animals come into the scene. The information that he gathers and his enjoyment excel those obtained by the man with a gun.

Roosevelt has said and shown that the hunter whose chief interest is in shooting has but little out of the hunt. Audubon did a little shooting for specimens. Wright had as many thrills with the camera as with the rifle. Adams was far happier and more useful with his live grizzlies than he was killing other grizzlies. Emerson McMillin was satisfied to hunt without either gun or camera. The words and sketches of Ernest Thompson Seton have given us much of the artistic side of the wilderness. Dr. Frank M. Chapman explored two continents for the facts of bird-lore and in addition to his books prepared the magnificent bird-groups in the American Museum of Natural History. Thoreau enjoyed life in the wilderness without a gun. But John Muir was the supreme wilderness hunter and wanderer. He never carried a gun. Usually he was in the wilds alone. He spent years in a grizzly bear country. But the wealth of nature-lore with which he enriched his books make him the Shakespeare of nature.

The man without a gun can enjoy every scene of nature along his way. He has time to turn aside for other animals, or to stop and watch any one of the countless unexpected wild-life exhibitions that are ever appearing. Then, too, he hears the many calls and sounds, the music of the wilds. The wild places, especially in grizzly bear land, are crowded with plants and with exhibitions of the manners and the customs of animals, and are rich in real nature stories being lived with all their charm and their dramatic changes.

Where Curiosity Wins

The grizzly bear has the most curiosity of any animal that I have watched. As curiosity arises from the desire to know, it appears that the superior mentality of the grizzly may be largely due to the alertness which curiosity sustains.

Although the grizzly has learned the extreme danger of exposing himself near man, yet, at times, all his vigilant senses are temporarily hypnotized by curiosity. On rare occasions it betrays him into trouble, or lands a cub in a trap. In old bears curiosity is accompanied with a keenness of observation and a caution that enable him to satisfy his desire for information without exposure to danger. Often it enables him to anticipate a concealed danger--to penetrate the camouflage of something dangerous. Curiosity prevents oncoming events from being thrust on the curious. It is an effort to obtain advance information instead of taking things as they come.

In 1826 Drummond, the botanist, collected plants in the Rocky Mountains. In stopping to examine, to gather, and to press them he was doing the unusual. He thus attracted the attention of numerous grizzlies, who even came close to watch him. They showed no inclination to attack. Bears are "chock-full of curiosity" and will sometimes forget to eat in trying to understand at once the new or the unusual.

Lewis and Clark tell of a bear on a sand-bar who showed interest in their boat as it passed. He raised himself on hind feet and looked after them, and then plunged into the river and swam toward the boat. This novel outfit should have attracted the attention of any living thing, and a curious grizzly must have been almost overcome with wonder. Yet the explorers erroneously assumed that this intense curiosity and consequent attempt for closer inspection was evidence of ferocity. During the first fifty years of the white man's contact with the grizzly, the bear frequently came close to a man or a camp for a better look; most frontiersmen thought this near approach was ferocity in the bear. Often the bear was greeted with bullets, and in due time he learned to satisfy his curiosity by stealth instead of by direct approach. But inquisitive he still is.

In crossing the mountains in northern New Mexico I was overtaken by a Swede on his way to a lumber-camp. He carried a pack, and a part of it was an accordion. We made camp that night near the head of a gulch. Across from us a treeless mountain rose a thousand feet.

After supper the Swede played on his accordion and was soon lost in music. Pausing in my note-making to enjoy his contented expression, I saw an old grizzly watching us from across the mountain. Standing upon a bowlder, he was looking over the tops of the spruce trees that thrust up out of the gulch. Through my field-glasses he appeared even more lost in wonder at the music than the enthusiastic, emotional player. When the refrain died away, the grizzly climbed down off the bowlder, and then, as another piece was begun, at once rose to remount, but instead stood with fore paws against the bowlder, listening. By and by he started up the mountain, pausing every few steps to turn and listen. He either stood broadside, his head tilted sideways, or raised himself on tiptoe, fascinated. A loud, lively, clashing close to one piece started him off on a gallop, but as soon as the music stopped the bear paused. He appeared puzzled and fidgeted about while the player sat silent, listening to my description of the bear's movements. A soft and melodious piece was next played. The bear, as the first strain sounded on the evening air, seated himself on his haunches facing us, and thus remained until the piece was finished. Then he climbed higher up the mountain and, on reaching the sky-line, walked lingering along in the last rays of the sun, looking down on us now and then as though wanting more music.

For two or three hours I watched a number of water-ouzels in the St. Vrain River. They often came within three or four feet of where I sat on the bank with my back against a large bowlder. To avoid frightening them, I sat motionless, not turning even my head for an hour or more at a time. I was enjoying their actions, when suddenly I caught the distinct odor of a bear. While still motionless and wondering further about this new interest, I heard the faint crack of a stick behind me. Turning my head at this sound, I saw a grizzly raised on hind legs with fore paws resting on top of the bowlder against which I was leaning. He looked at me with intense interest, all caution forgotten. His curiosity absolutely dominated. But my slight movement had aroused him. In two seconds from the time I turned he was crashing off through the thicket and probably was condemning himself for being so curious.

One Sunday afternoon one of the men in a lumber-camp rigged up a canvas hammock from the remnants of an old tent and suspended it between two trees. A pet grizzly who belonged at the camp watched him with curious interest while he worked. She observed him with still greater interest as he stretched himself out in it and began reading. When the man deserted the hammock, she walked up to it, struck it, pushed it back and forth with fore paws, and then began rather awkwardly to climb into it. She had almost succeeded, when her weight upon the edge caused it to tip over and spill her on the ground. She leaped back surprised, then walked round the hammock, eyeing it with great curiosity. But the second attempt at climbing into the hammock was successful, and she made a most comical and awkward sight stretched out in it flat upon her back.

I came upon a grizzly on the heights above the timber-line watching the progress of a forest fire. Squatted on his haunches like a dog, he was intently watching the fire-front below. A deep roar at one place, high leaping flames at another, a vast smoke-cloud at another caused him to turn toward each with rapt attention. He followed with eager eyes, also, the swiftly advancing cloud-shadows as they mysteriously rushed forward over ridge and valley. So intent was he that none of his keen senses warned him of my presence, though I stood near for two or three minutes, watching him. When I called he slowly turned his head. He stared at me in a half-dazed manner, then angrily showed his teeth. After another second he fled like a frightened rabbit.

The actions of a fisherman were being followed with the closest attention by a grizzly when I came along the opposite side of a narrow cañon. The bear stood still for some minutes, all his faculties concentrated on the fisherman. Every cast of the fly was observed with the greatest interest. A dangling trout caused him much excitement. Possibly the wind, touched with man-scent, finally warned him of danger. Anyway, he suddenly came to his senses, roused himself, and ran off.

On one of my camping-trips into the mountains I carried a long yellow slicker. Wearing this one misty, half-snowy day, I was followed by a grizzly. Twice he evidently came close to me; although I did not see him, I scented him. When well upon a mountain during the afternoon, I crossed an open place in the woods where a breeze broke up the low-drifting clouds. For a moment I beheld a much interested grizzly near by. He stood and stared at me with all caution forgotten in his curiosity about the long yellow coat.

At dark I made camp at timber-line and forgot about the bear. The slicker was hung over a pole against a cliff to drain and dry. I went to sleep about eleven o'clock, after writing up my notes and watching my camp-fire. During the night the grizzly came boldly into camp, reared up, and slit the slicker. My shoes near by had not been noticed; the bacon and raisins swinging from a limb had not interested his keen nose. He was interested only in that slicker.

This was a case where the grizzly's curiosity might have got him into trouble. So intent was he on seeing this one thing that for hours he had forgotten food-hunting and followed me; and then in order to have a closer examination of it he must have waited near my camp two or three hours until I had lain down.

Another time, in the Yellowstone, while I was sleeping out, a big grizzly who had followed me all day came to give me closer inspection. I was awakened by his lightly clawing my bed. I opened my eyes and watched him for some seconds and lay perfectly still while he sniffed me over. After several seconds of this he appeared to have satisfied his curiosity and walked quietly away beneath the stars.

As I was trying to flash information with a looking-glass from Mount Lincoln to a prospector down in the valley one day, a grizzly became attracted by the flashes and lay down to watch them circle and shimmer here and there. In the San Juan Mountains a prospector once lost a wheel from a rude cart which he was hauling up a steep, roadless slope. As the detached wheel went bounding down and across the bottom of the gulch, a grizzly hit an attitude of attention and watched it. He became excited as it leaped and rushed up the opposite slope, and when it rolled over he approached cautiously to see what manner of thing it might be. A grizzly sat down on his haunches to watch the uncertain movements of an umbrella which had taken advantage of a wind-storm to desert a mountain-top artist. He observed the disheveled umbrella with the greatest enjoyment as it danced across the moorland, and was particularly interested when a whirl sent it high into the air.

Riding a lazy pony slowly, silently, along a trail in the San Juan Mountains, I came close upon a grizzly and three cubs. They aroused the deep emotional nature of my pony. He took on new and fiery life, and in his eagerness to reach a high mountain across the cañon he forgot all about the topography--the cañon that lay deep between. While he was standing on one hind foot on the edge of the cañon I leaped from the saddle. The old bear and cubs, forgetting all possible danger, while he was thus performing stood up to watch the entire exhibition.

A grizzly keeps an eye on near-by animals, often without appearing to do so. But if the animal is doing something new or unusual he gives it his entire attention. Two bears, side by side, are interested in the same thing; yet the individuality of each will show if you watch them a minute. Of course, all bears are not equally curious about the same thing, but seldom do I recall outwitting a bear even when appealing to his curiosity, and never could I class him as stupid.

Grizzlies in regions just invaded by white men appear to have put in much time trying to make out what these strange creatures were about. What man is doing is ever of first importance to the long-lived grizzly. His interest in his surroundings appears to be greater than that of the average person. At any rate, the grizzly shows better knowledge of the habits of human beings than people have of the habits of bears.

His is not the curiosity of the idle; the grizzly is not prying into the affairs of others for mere pastime, but is concerned only so far as these affairs may benefit or harm him. His is the intelligent curiosity of a mind seeking facts. Most of the time he leads a solitary life; he rarely exchanges ideas or information with other bears. Most animals live in pairs or flocks and, each gathering information for all, they divide sentinel duty; but single-handed the grizzly must get the news, must scout for himself. He is ever on the watch, does nothing blindly, and he simply must understand.

Any unusual occurrence arouses a grizzly's curiosity, and is to him "a word to the wise." His success lies in constant alertness. He might well be likened to a frontiersman; he has that painstaking vigilance, that untiring energy, which seeks to discover whether this strange track, sound, or displacement is the camouflage which conceals the enemy or if it be a clue which will lead to something of advantage. He at once endeavors to find out all that may be learned about it.

The grizzly bear may have inherited a love for exploration. His ancestors were adventurers, coming to this continent from Asia. The natural attraction which the new and unusual has for him may generally be gratified in his curiosity about things at home. But we may readily imagine that the grizzly must sometimes become restless when there is nothing stirring near by, when he finds no excitement in his home territory, and so wanders like an explorer to seek discoveries in far-off scenes. He is innately an adventurer; he seeks adventure and often finds it. His curiosity does not allow him to live in a rut--to live contentedly with old conditions. He is always learning; he keeps alive and growing.

The grizzly bear simply cannot be understood, nor half understood, if his curiosity is not considered. Notice a grizzly bear pet, observe a grizzly in a zoo, watch both the cubs and the old grizzlies in the Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks. They walk about like superior animals, which they are. Those in parks ever notice any sudden movement, any new figure in the foreground, and detect any unusual noise that comes from far away behind the woods. The grizzly bear and the scout are masters of woodcraft through intensive observation. Behind the word curiosity the grizzly bear has put a world of meaning.

The wild grizzly shows a deeper feeling for the scenes, the sounds, and the movements around him than any other animal that I have watched. Sometimes, while thus interested, he sits on haunches like a dog, again he stands on all fours, at other times he stands on hind feet, tiptoe, and, on rare occasions, he sits on his tail with fore paws against his breast, perhaps leaning against something. Once in a while he gives full attention while lying down.

When looking at scenery and sunsets, his appearance is one of enjoyment; he appears to have feeling in the conscious presence of that which we call beautiful or glorious. I have seen a grizzly looking at a magnificent and many-colored sunset, completely absorbed. There was no fear at a flash of lightning or the roar and echoing roll of thunder. Once I saw a grizzly turn to stare at the course of a shooting star; another gazed for seconds at a brilliant rainbow.

Generally the grizzly's attention to these demonstrations rose superior to commonplace curiosity; he looked long, he listened closely, he was absorbed, and he appeared to feel as he sat lost in wonder. Had he been a child, with the power of speech, he certainly would have asked questions. Often his expression, his attitude, indicated that he was saying to himself: "What was that? What caused it? Where did that noise come from? What are those strange shadows running from, and how can they move without a sound?"

On the Defensive

In the grizzly bear we have the leading animal of North America, and one who might well be put at the head of the wild life of the earth. He has brain and brawn. He is self-contained and is prepared for anything. He makes an impressive appearance. He looks capable. He has bulk, agility, strength, endurance, repose, courage, enthusiasm, and curiosity. He is a masterful fighter if forced to defend himself.

But, a century ago, fifty years ago, or to-day, one could ramble the grizzly's territory in safety--unless attempting to kill a grizzly. The grizzly objects to being killed. If he is surprised or crowded so that he sees no escape, if the cubs are in danger or the mother thinks they are, or if the bear is wounded, there will be a fight or a retreat; and the grizzly will not be the one retreating. Almost every animal--wild or domestic--will fight if cornered or if he thinks himself cornered.

Before the days of the repeating rifle the grizzly boldly wandered over his domain as absolute master; there was nothing for him to fear; not an aggressive foe existed. But, being ever curious, he hastened to examine whatever interested him. The novel outfit of Lewis and Clark, which appears to have attracted unusual attention even from frontier people, must naturally have aroused the highest pitch of interest in the numbers of bears congregated in places along the river. There were boats of odd type,--some with sails,--strange cargoes, men in picturesque accoutrements, and even a colored man. The frequent close approaches which the bears made in trying to satisfy their curiosity caused Lewis and Clark to think them ferocious.

But is the grizzly bear ferocious? All the firsthand evidence I can find says he is not. Speaking from years of experience with him my answer is emphatically, "No!" Nearly every one whom a grizzly has killed went out with the special intention of killing a grizzly. The majority of people who hold the opinion that he is not ferocious are those who have studied him without attempting to kill him; while the majority who say that he is ferocious are those who have killed or attempted to kill him.

During the greater part of my life I have lived in a grizzly bear region. I have camped for months alone and without a gun in their territory. I have seen them when alone and when with hunters, in Colorado, Utah, Arizona, Mexico, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Washington, British Columbia, and Alaska. I have spent weeks trailing and watching grizzlies, and their tracks in the snow showed that they often trailed me. They frequently came close, and there were times when they might have attacked me with every advantage. But they did not do so. As they never made any attack on me, nor on any one else that I know of who was not bent on killing them, I can only conclude that they are not ferocious.

Once I was running down a Wyoming mountainside, leaping fallen fire-killed timber, when suddenly I surprised a grizzly by landing within a few feet of him. He leaped up and struck at me with sufficient force to have almost cut me in two had the blow landed. Then he instantly fled. This, however, was not ferocity. Plainly he thought himself attacked and struck in self-defense.

There are many naturalists and frontiersmen who affirm from first-hand experience that the grizzly is not ferocious, and following are given a number of quotations from a few of these men.

John Muir, who spent about forty years in the wilderness home of the grizzly bear, from 1868 to 1912, usually camped alone and never carried firearms. He has repeatedly called attention in his books to the wilderness as a place of safety, and has mentioned that grizzly bears are masters in attending to their own affairs; also that bears have effectively suggested to wilderness visitors to do likewise. In "Our National Parks" Muir says:--

"In my first interview with a Sierra bear we were frightened and
embarrassed, both of us, but the bear's behavior was better than
mine.... After studying his appearance as he stood at rest, I rushed
forward to frighten him, that I might study his gait in running.
But, contrary to all I had heard about the shyness of bears, he did
not run at all; and when I stopped short within a few steps of him,
as he held his ground in a fighting attitude, my mistake was
monstrously plain. I was put on my good behavior, and never
afterwards forgot the right manners of the wilderness."

Muir also says, in "Steep Trails":--

"There are bears in the woods, but not in such numbers nor of such
unspeakable ferocity as town-dwellers imagine, nor do bears spend
their lives in going about the country like the devil, seeking whom
they may devour. Oregon bears, like most others, have no liking for
man either as meat or as society; and while some may be curious at
times to see what manner of creature he is, most of them have
learned to shun people as deadly enemies."

Mr. William H. Wright spent most of his time from 1883 to 1908 as a hunter of wild animals, and especially as a hunter of the grizzly. In addition to being an observer of exceptional care while hunting and trapping, he spent some years in photographing grizzlies. He first studied them in order to hunt them successfully; then laid aside his rifle and hunted them to study them. From full acquaintance with the grizzly Mr. Wright declares that he is not ferocious. He offers the following comment concerning his curiosity--a trait which early explorers mistook for ferocity:--

"We know now that the grizzly is chock-full of curiosity, and that
one of his habits is to follow up any trail that puzzles or
interests him, be it of man or beast. This trait has been noted and
misconstrued by many.... So often have I seen this curiosity and
proved it to be innocent that I have no fear whatever of these
animals when indulging in this weakness of theirs. Time and again I
have allowed one to approach within a few yards of me, and no calm
observer who had watched a bear defying his own caution to satisfy
his own inquisitiveness could mistake the nature of his approach."

Drummond, the botanist, had numerous experiences with grizzlies in the Rocky Mountains in 1826. He was familiar with their curiosity. He says that often they came close and stood up to look at him. But if he made a noise with his specimen-box, or "even waved his hand," they ran away.

James Capen Adams hunted and trapped big game from 1849 to 1859 in California and along the Pacific Coast. He captured numerous grizzlies, both old and young, and literally domesticated them. He discusses their characteristics at length. He knew them intimately, and in summing them up after years of close association he says of the grizzly, "He did not invite combat."

Kit Carson, another frontiersman of long experience with grizzlies, in writing of them does not call them ferocious.

Dr. W. T. Hornaday knows the grizzly in the wilds and has long and intimately known him in the zoo. In "The American Natural History" Dr. Hornaday has the following:--

"I have made many observations on the temper of the Grizzly Bear,
and am convinced that naturally the disposition of this reputedly
savage creature is rather peaceful and good-natured. At the same
time, however, no animal is more prompt to resent an affront or
injury, or punish an offender. The Grizzly temper is defensive, not
aggressive; and unless the animal is cornered, or _thinks he is
cornered_, he always flees from man."

The early explorers were warned by the Indians that the grizzly was "an awful and ferocious animal." All the early writers had the preconceived belief that the grizzly was ferocious. Many of these writers never saw a grizzly, but wrote down as fact the erroneous conclusions of the Indians. The few writers who did see a grizzly evidently judged him largely from these preconceived ideas. Even Lewis and Clark describe a number of the grizzly's actions and call him ferocious when the very actions which they describe simply show him as being curious, interested, or, at worst, excited at their strange appearance. They misinterpreted what actually happened.

A few sentences from Audubon well illustrate the wrought-up frame of mind of many hunters and authors when hunting or writing about the grizzly. Audubon says:--

"While in the neighborhood where the grizzly bear may possibly be
hidden, the excited nerves will cause the heart's pulsations to
quicken if but a startled ground squirrel run past, the sharp click
of the lock is heard and the rifle hastily thrown to the shoulder
before a second of time has assured the hunter of the trifling cause
of his emotion." This suggests emotion but not accuracy.

In summing up the animals of the North and West in 1790, Edward
Umfreville wrote of the "red and the grizzle bear" that "their
nature is savage and ferocious, their power dangerous, and their
haunts to be guarded against."

In 1795 Sir Alexander MacKenzie recorded the following:--

"The Indians entertain great apprehension of this kind of a bear,
which is called the grisly bear, and they never venture to attack it
except in a party of least three or four."

Henry M. Brackenridge, author of "Views of Louisiana," wrote the following from hearsay:--