DICK RANDALL AND A BEAR 



and a faddist. Through him, unjustly it may have 

 been, the whole world of bears sank in my estimation. 

 How can one admire creatures who do not appreciate 

 good tobacco ? 



The following morning I decided to move. I was 

 a little tired of bears, and had got few photographs 

 of anything else at this spot. Still, before I left I 

 did want to try my luck with the chipmunk. There 

 were plenty of these little fellows round the hotel, 

 most of them ridiculously tame. In the end I got a 

 most deUghtful film showing a child feeding one of 

 them, both the animal and the Httle girl being so 

 intent on the business in hand that they did not 

 appear to notice me. 



After I had finished with the chipmunk, my guide, 

 Dick Randall, said he reckoned he would go back 

 to the camp and strike tent, so that we could set out 

 for the Grand Canyon right away. He went — and as 

 he reached the tent he found Mr. Bear coming out 

 hugging our last ham. There was quite a lot of 

 shouting and excitement, both the bear and Dick 

 taking part in producing the noise. Dick very wisely 

 jumped on the buggy in quest of the whip and lashed 

 out with it, much to the disgust of the visitor, who 

 dropped the ham and climbed a tree, from whence 

 he hurled rude things at us in his own language. 



We packed up our gear, including that rescued 

 ham, and trekked out for the Grand Canyon. There 



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