Hunting the Grisly. 



bush the beast when he came back that evening. The 

 carcass lay in the middle of a valley a quarter of a mile 

 broad. The bottom of this valley was covered by an open 

 forest of tall pines ; a thick jungle of smaller evergreens, 

 marked where the mountains rose on either hand. There 

 were a number of large rocks scattered here and there, one, 

 of very convenient shape, being only some seventy or 

 eighty yards from the carcass. Up this I clambered. It 

 hid me perfectly, and on its top was a carpet of soft pine 

 needles, on which I could lie at my ease. 



Hour after hour passed by. A little black woodpecker 

 with a yellow crest ran nimbly up and down the tree trunks 

 for some time and then flitted away with a party of chicka- 

 dees and nut-hatches. Occasionally a Clarke's crow soared 

 about overhead or clung in any position to the swaying 

 end of a pine branch, chattering and screaming. Flocks 

 of cross-bills, with wavy flight and plaintive calls, flew to 

 a small mineral lick near by, where they scraped the clay 

 with their queer little beaks. 



As the westering sun sank out of sight beyond the 

 mountains these sounds of bird-life gradually died away. 

 Under the great pines the evening was still with the silence 

 of primeval desolation. The sense of sadness and loneli- 

 ness, the melancholy of the wilderness, came over me like 

 a spell. Every slight noise made my pulses throb as I lay 

 motionless on the rock gazing intently into the gathering 

 gloom. I began to fear that it would grow too dark to 

 shoot before the grisly came. 



Suddenly and without warning, the great bear stepped 

 out of the bushes and trod across the pine needles with 



