92 AT TEE NORTH OF BE ARC AMP WATER. 
leaves crushed, moss stained, and rocks torn 
up. As we descended the north slope towards 
the dark ravine which the bear had sought, the 
sunlight grew dim and the air cold. Suddenly 
I saw the bear. At the foot of a slippery ledge, 
over which hung dripping wet moss, lying upon 
a deep bed of sphagnum, was a gaunt black 
form. Dead and still as it was, it sent a thrill 
through me. I seemed to see the being for 
whom this wild region had been created. The 
horn-blowing, pistol-firing, peanut-eating tourist 
is out of place in the rugged ravines of Choco- 
rua. Even the bronzed, gray-shirted native 
with his magazine rifle is not in tune with the 
solemn music of this wilderness. But in the 
dead creature on the moss I saw the real owner 
of forest and ledge, mountain pool and hidden 
lake. He looked weary and worn, as though 
life had been full of hunger and terror. The 
small, keen, wicked eyes were closed; the cruel 
teeth were locked tight, the broad feet were cut 
by his last struggles on the ledges, and his thin 
hair, showing the hide below it, was flecked 
with blood which had oozed from four bullet 
wounds. 
We five men gathered around the dead bear 
and looked at him, felt of him, counted his 
nails, tried to open his set jaws, guessed at his 
weight, discussed his character, wondered at his 
