THE STORY OF BEN 



My story of Ben starts on the 22d of June, 1890. 

 Ben's own story had begun some four or five months 

 earlier, in the den where his mother, who was a Black 

 Bear, had spent the winter; but although I came to 

 know Ben rather intimately later on, he never spoke 

 of his early childhood to me and I never asked him 

 about it. So we'll take that part for granted. 



Early in May of that year three of us, Martin Spencer, 

 Jack O'Brien, and myself, had set out from Spokane, 

 Washington, to hunt grizzlies and prospect for gold 

 in the rugged and, at that time, largely unexplored 

 Bitter Root Mountains, in Idaho. We had a small 

 pack train and a large stock of enthusiasm, and we 

 arrived at the foothills with both in good condition. 

 But although it was well past the middle of the month 

 when we reached the mountains, we soon found our- 

 selves floundering in snow-drifts that increased in depth 

 as we climbed, and when, for several days on end, we 

 had cut our way with a two-handed saw through fallen 

 trees that barred our progress and had dug the saddle 

 and pack horses out of pot holes in the snow into which 

 a misstep or an act of deliberate stupidity had sent 



