172 The Grizzly Bear 



some fifty yards away, accompanied by a young friend 

 who wanted to see the bear and promised to keep still. 

 Frank was seated on a fallen tree, peering through the 

 upturned roots at one end. Another tree, some fifteen feet 

 behind him, lay across the one on which he was seated. 

 He was lazily fighting mosquitoes with a small switch, 

 and his whole attitude spoke of phlegmatic and easy 

 attention to business. 



For perhaps two hours nothing happened, and we all 

 three remained at our posts. Then the young man at my 

 side whispered to me that there was a large brown bear 

 some twenty-five yards in our rear, and as I turned to 

 look, I saw the huge grizzly that I had taken a snap at a 

 few nights before sneaking up behind Frank with extended 

 nose and every appearance of puzzled curiosity. Frank 

 was still gazing between the roots at his camera and lazily 

 swaying his switch, and, knowing that the big grizzly was 

 aware of his presence and only trying to satisfy his curiosity, 

 I made no sign. When the bear reached the dead tree 

 that lay at right angles to Frank's seat, he placed his fore- 

 paws on it, stretched his head out, and began to sniff — 

 well, out loud. 



Frank turned around casually at the sound, and for a 

 hundredth of a second there was a tableau that I would 

 have given a good deal for a picture of. Then Frank's 

 switch began a frantic tattoo on the nearest root. Frank 

 himself leaped to his feet and the fat old grizzly shot away 

 sideways — as luck would have it — in our direction. His 

 first two or three jumps covered more than half the dis- 

 tance between us, and, as it began to look as though we 

 would be trampled, we also jumped up, when, with a loud 



