Feb. 27, 1909.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
329 
qiiite hard and there was no difficulty in walk¬ 
ing upon it. As he rounded the end of the tree 
his foot broke through into a cavity. It rested 
upon something soft, there was a surprised 
grunt, and a hasty scrambling upon the part 
of some animal that was very much alive. iSIy 
husband lost little time in pulling his leg out 
of the hole, and when he peered down into the 
dark cavity his gaze met that of a pair of small 
beady eyes. In another instant the animal 
thrust his head out of the hole and announced 
himself a bear, the first one awake. He was 
making effective efforts at e.xtricating himself 
when my husband bethought himself of the 
rifle strapped to his back. To unsling the 
weapon and shoot the bear was the work of 
but an instant. He proved to be a young male 
with long black fur that was glossy and fine as 
silk. The flesh, too, was fat and made a wel¬ 
come addition to our 
larder, which hy that 
time was growing scant. 
It was somewhat later 
that the bear pens be¬ 
came occupied. The 
snow melted, and be¬ 
came rotten and brown, 
though still deep upon 
the earth. The bears 
came out from their 
long winter’s sleep very 
hungry. One day I 
went with my husband 
to visit the pen nearest 
the cabin. Before we 
reached it by many rods 
we could see that the 
door was down and that 
something was captive 
within the pen. As 
soon as the bear smelled 
us, he shook the pen 
with his frantic attacks 
upon the logs. His 
growls were so fierce 
that I shrank back in 
terror. Finally, sum¬ 
moning my courage, I 
peeped between the logs 
and saw a great shaggy brown animal with fiery 
red eyes, his lips running white slaver, gnash¬ 
ing his teeth in rage. At times he would seize 
the logs in his powerful jaws and shake until 
it seemed the pen would surely fall. Finding 
himself unable to tear down the structure, he 
would wrench out a piece of the log as large 
as a stove stick. I was much relieved when a 
rifle bullet put an end to his career, yet there 
was something noble about the great woods 
creature as he lay there so still in death. I 
could not hut think that in reality man had no 
right to invade the domain of the wild and dis¬ 
turb its citizens with his destructive engines. 
I suppose that beautiful brown skin now adorns 
the hallway of some fine mansion and the owner 
never thinks of the life history of the bear who 
wore it. Nor thinks he ever of the man who 
dared the mountain fastnesses to procure the 
skin. 
That spring we procured many bears, but one 
we set free. My husband always said that it 
was my fault, but as I was not there I cannot 
see how that could be. I am willing to take 
the blame, however. Perhaps you will agree 
with me when you hear the tale. The spring 
came on apace. The snow turned to brown 
water and hurried into the river. In a very few 
days the hillsides were bare and the early 
flowers in bloom. I cannot make you under¬ 
stand how these mountain streams are, but when 
a Chinook comes—that is, a warm wind which 
melts the snow very fast—the water rises and 
overflows the banks. It goes rushing seaward 
in a perfect torrent. One of our bear pens was 
situated upon the further side of one of these 
mountain torrents at such a time impossilfle to 
cross. 
In a week the water had so far gone down 
that it was possible to cross, and my husband 
set out to visit this bear pen. When he reached 
it he found that a mother bear with two cubs 
had been there; in fact, still were there. The 
old one was on the inside, the little ones with- 
LUNCHEON IN A DESERTED LUMBER CAMP. 
From a photograph made in the Adirondacks by Clarence L. Parker. 
out. She was trying to reach them and they, 
poor little chaps, were trying to reach her. The 
little ones were very small, only just out from 
the den, and were unable to forage for them¬ 
selves. The old bear had been tempted by hun¬ 
ger to invade the pen, only to find herself a 
captive and separated from her babies. She must 
have been in the pen for over a week, as they 
were very much emaciated and hardly able to 
walk. Indeed, when they saw my husband com¬ 
ing they were only able to crawl as near as pos¬ 
sible to their mother and cuddle down beside 
the log pen where they lay crying like two tired 
children in little moaning sobs. 
The mother, detecting the presence of her 
enemy, man, vainly endeavored to reach her 
little ones in order to protect them. He crept 
close up and peered in at the caged animxl. 
Compassion for her sufferings got the better of 
his commercial instinct and he resolved to 
liberate her. 
How to accomplish that task was a problem. 
If he should lift the door and allow her to get 
out the consequences to himself might be more 
serious than his encounter with the lynx. In¬ 
deed, there could be no question but that the 
enraged animal would seek to protect her young. 
His native Yankee resource came to his aid in 
the solution. A tree stood near to the pen, just 
behind it. Fastening a stout cord to the top 
of the door, he threw it over one of the lower 
limbs of the tree. Choosing another tree a little 
further back, a bushy cedar this was, he climbed 
into its branches carrying the cord with him, 
and not forgetting his gun. Before doing this, 
however, he gathered up the two little ones and 
carried them several yards from the pen in an 
opposite direction. Their cries made the old 
one beside herself with rage. She tore about 
in the narrow pen and roared frightfully. 
After he was safely in the tree he waited a 
short time for her to become quiet before pull¬ 
ing the cord. Then he cautiously raised the 
narrow door. No sooner did she see the open¬ 
ing than she dashed 
through it. Throwing 
up her head she sniffed 
the air and then ran 
directly to where the 
cubs lay. The mother 
instinct prevailed over 
any other. The little 
fellows whined with de¬ 
light when they saw her, 
and she nosed them all 
over, smoothing down 
their fur with her ton¬ 
gue, all the time utter¬ 
ing little whines of de¬ 
light. Apparently the 
human enemy was for¬ 
gotten. Slowly she toled 
the cubs off, though they 
were so weak they could 
scarcely walk. He saw 
the family disappear in 
the deep timber before 
he dared descend from 
his perch. He told me 
the story that night and 
woman - like, I cried. 
You'd cry, too, I think, 
if the story had been 
told you by the one who 
was an actor in the little drama. 
Those of you who never spent a winter in 
the deep woods cannot appreciate how good it 
is to see something familiar. I had grown tired 
of the society of the raven and the gray jays. 
.-\11 winter they had been with us. Not another 
feathered thing had we seen, except once dur¬ 
ing the winter a flock of crossbills came for a 
day and hung about the cabin, feeding upon— 
what do 3'ou suppose—salt. They seemed fran¬ 
tic in their desire to get at the salt that had 
been thrown upon the snow. They remained for 
only one day and then left us again. Sometimes 
in that long, dreary season I thought I would 
give everything for the sound of some of the 
old farmyard voices. The crowing of a cock 
would have been music to my cars, but there 
was nothing to break the great silence. 
One morning when the winter was nearly 
spent, before the day was fairly born, we heard 
a bird song that was like getting a letter from 
the dear ones at home. The bold cheery note 
of a robin came floating to us out of the silence. 
Just a homely robin with dark slaty back and 
brick-red breast sitting upon our fir tree, and 
