ONE day in North Park, Colorado, I came 

 on the carcass of a cow that wolves had 

 recently killed. Knowing that bears were about, 

 I climbed into the substantial top of a stocky 

 pine near by, hoping that one would come to 

 feast. A grizzly came at sundown. 



The carcass lay in a grassy opening sur- 

 rounded by willow-clumps, grassy spaces, and a 

 sprinkling of low-growing, round-topped pines. 

 When about one hundred feet from the carcass, 

 the bear stopped. Standing erect, with his fore 

 paws hanging loosely, he looked, listened, and 

 carefully examined the air with his nose. As the 

 air was not stirring, I felt that he had not, and 

 probably would not, scent me in the treetop 

 perch. 



After scouting for a minute or two with all 

 his keen senses, he dropped on all fours and 

 slowly, without a sound, advanced toward the 

 carcass. He circled as he advanced; and, when 



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