II 



THE CHRONICLE OF A CHROMATIC 

 BEAR HUNT 



THE biography of the average big-game 

 hunter is a bitter hard-luck story. As 

 compared with his work, the twelve labors 

 of Hercules were the initiatory stunts of a 

 high-school sorority. If this were not so, we 

 would have no game left. The "big-horn" 

 and the Alaskan grizzly would soon be quite 

 as extinct as the dodo. 



When Fred Stone and I determined to go 

 bear hunting we chose Alaska, for several 

 reasons. First, it was farther away than 

 any other place we knew of, and harder to 

 get to than certain suburbs of Brooklyn. 

 Secondly, there are lots of bears in Alaska 

 black, white, gray, blue, brown, and the 

 combinations thereof; enough to match any 

 kind of furniture or shade of carpet. And 

 I had been kindly but firmly informed that 

 my trip would not be considered a success at 



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