By Enos A. Mills

THE GRIZZLY, OUR GREATEST WILD ANIMAL. Illustrated.
YOUR NATIONAL PARKS. Illustrated.
THE STORY OF SCOTCH. Illustrated.
THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN WONDERLAND. Illustrated.
THE STORY OF A THOUSAND-YEAR PINE. Illustrated.
IN BEAVER WORLD. Illustrated.
THE SPELL OF THE ROCKIES. Illustrated.
WILD LIFE ON THE ROCKIES. Illustrated.

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
Boston and New York

The Grizzly
OUR GREATEST WILD ANIMAL

A Wild Grizzly
Taken by Flashlight
Copyright, 1902, by F. C. Wolcott

The Grizzly
OUR GREATEST WILD ANIMAL

By Enos A. Mills

With Illustrations

Boston and New York
Houghton Mifflin Company
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1919

COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY ENOS A. MILLS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

To
Emerson McMillin

Preface

It would make exciting reading if a forty-year-old grizzly bear were to write his autobiography. Beginning with the stories from his mother of the long and exciting journey of his ancestors from far-off Asia and of her own struggle in bringing up her family, and then telling of his own adventurous life and his meetings with men and with other animals, he could give us a book of highly dramatic quality. Just what a wise old grizzly would say while philosophizing concerning the white race would certainly be of human interest and rich in material for literature.

A vigorous, courageous adventurer himself, and a keen and constant observer, the grizzly would have clear-cut views concerning the explorers, early settlers, and hunters. The arrival of the early white people aroused his extraordinary inherent curiosity. He watched them with wondering eyes. He was even inclined to walk right into camp to make their acquaintance. He had no evil intentions, but he was greeted with yells and bullets. Relentlessly down through the years he was pursued. Dogs, guns, poison, and traps have swept a majority of the grizzlies away. Their retreat was masterly and heroic, but the odds were overwhelming.

In the midst of this terrible hunt the Yellowstone wild-life reservation was established. Instantly the grizzly understood, years before other big animals did, and in its protection at once came forth from hiding, eager to be friendly with man. I should like to know his wonderings concerning this place of refuge—why its creation, why its mysterious, invisible boundary-lines, and why, outside of it, the fierce, never-ending pursuit for him has still gone on, until his noble species is verging on extinction.

What, too, are his feelings over the increased friendly interest in his species all over the nation? How excitedly must he catch the echoes of discussions which are telling that he has been misunderstood, that he is not a bad fellow! And surely, if writing, he will pause abruptly when he hears that the public, and even the hunter, is making efforts to have the hunt for him checked—learns that there may early be a close season on the grizzly bear.

During the past thirty years I have had numerous experiences with the grizzly bear in various sections of his territory. In it I have camped alone and unarmed. I have trailed the grizzly without a gun. I have repeatedly been outwitted by him, but never has he attacked me. I have not found him ferocious, and I consider him in most respects the greatest animal on the North American continent, if not in the world. He excels in mental development and physical prowess, and he possesses the rare quality of loyalty. He is full of curiosity and is a born adventurer. The species impresses one with its superiority, and the individuality of each grizzly ever stands out.

The material in this book is drawn chiefly from my own experiences with grizzly bears in the wilderness. Ten of the chapters have not before appeared in print. The author acknowledges with thanks the courtesy of the editors of the Saturday Evening Post in granting permission to reprint from that magazine parts of three chapters contained in this book; and to the editors of The American Boy for two chapters reprinted herein. Dr. C. Hart Merriam has kindly consented to the reproduction of a part of his comment on the grizzly and big brown bears, together with his up-to-date classification of them. This valuable material represents the work of years.

E. A. M.

Contents

Illustrations

Grizzly Sagacity

One autumn day, while I was watching a little cony stacking hay for the winter, a clinking and rattling of slide rock caught my attention. On the mountain-side opposite me, perhaps a hundred yards away, a grizzly bear was digging in an enormous rock-slide. He worked energetically. Several slabs of rock were hurled out of the hole and tossed down the mountain-side. Stones were thrown right and left. I could not make out what he was after, but it is likely that he was digging for a woodchuck.

After a short time only his shoulders showed above the scattered slide rock as he stood erect. Then he began piling the stones upon the edge of his deepening hole. The slope was steep and the stones had to be placed with care to prevent their tumbling back. After lifting into place one huge slab, he stood and looked at it for an instant and then slightly changed its position. On top of this stone he piled another large one, eyed it closely, shook it to see if it was solid, and finally shifted it a trifle. Had he not been wearing a grizzly-bear coat, it would have been easy to believe that a powerful, careful, thoughtful man was eagerly digging that hole.

The keenness of the grizzly’s sagacity and the workings of his rare wit were impressed upon me in a photographing experience that I had. Two other young fellows and I thought we could get a near-by photograph of an old grizzly that ranged near us. We entered his territory at three widely separated places and moved in concert toward the centre. We hoped that either one of us would be able to slip up close to the grizzly or else he, in running away, would come close to one of us.

Very soon one of the boys aroused the bear and started him running. The grizzly had evidently scented him half a mile away. Running in my direction, when within about a mile he discovered my presence, turned, and retreated six or seven miles into a remote corner of his territory. In this retreat he did not go within two miles of either of the other fellows.

Realizing that the bear had eluded us, we slightly separated and moved toward him. He did not wait to be cornered in a cañon. Late that day we followed his devious tracks and discovered his movements. We learned to our chagrin that he had doubled back in the cañon and come part way toward us. Then, climbing an out-thrusting ridge where he could see in all directions, he evidently had watched us when we passed up a grassy valley beneath him. After we were in the timber beyond he had descended to the valley. Then the most amazing turn came. Instead of running away in the opposite direction he had followed along close behind us! By the time we discovered all this the day was gone, and so was the bear. He had had an adventure.

Did the grizzly know we were unarmed? He might have used the same tactics in any case. Anyway, he easily kept out of our way, followed our moves, and had, perhaps, enjoyed our unsuccessful efforts.

I would give the grizzly first place in the animal world for brain-power. He is superior in mentality to the horse, the dog, and even the gray wolf. Instinct the grizzly has, but he also has the ability to reason. His ever-alert, amazingly developed senses are constantly supplying his brain with information—information which he uses, and uses intelligently. His powers of scent are exquisite. His ears hear faint sounds; they are continually on scout and sentinel duty. Wireless messages from long distances which his senses pick up are accurately received and their place of origin correctly determined.

The grizzly appears to guide his daily life with plan and forethought. He has the genius for taking pains. He is constantly alert and meets emergencies with brains. The following actions have impressed me with his keen mental processes.

A grizzly cub in Yellowstone Park found a big ham skin—a prized delicacy. Just as the little fellow was lifting it to his mouth a big bear appeared. He instantly dropped the ham skin, sat down on it, and pretended to be greatly interested in watching something in the edge of the woods.

Another young grizzly in the Yellowstone one day found a tin can that was open at one end and partly filled with fish. He raised it in his fore paws and peeped in, then deliberately turned the can upside down and shook it. Nothing came out. He shook again; no result. Then he proceeded just about as you or I might have done. He placed the can on the ground, open end down, and hammered the bottom of the can with a stone until the fish dropped out.

In a zoo one day, a piece of hard-tack that a grizzly bear wanted fell into the hands of a black bear. The black bear dipped the hard-tack in the water and then started to take a bite. Evidently it was too hard. He put it in the water again, and while it soaked gave his attention to something else. While the black bear was not looking, the grizzly, standing on the farther edge of the pool, stirred the water with a fore paw and started the hard-tack toward him on the waves. The instant the first wave touched the black bear he looked around, grabbed the precious hard-tack, which was rapidly floating away, and, pushing it to the bottom of the pool, put one hind foot upon it. How very like the mental processes of human beings!

One day in North Park, Colorado, I came upon the carcass of a cow that wolves had recently killed. It lay in a grassy opening surrounded by willow clumps. 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.

When about one hundred feet from the carcass the bear stopped. Standing erect, with fore paws hanging loosely, he looked, listened, and carefully examined the air with his nose. The grizzly is eternally vigilant; he appears to feel that he is ever pursued. As the air was not stirring, I felt that he could not scent me in my tree-top perch. It may be, however, that he faintly caught my lingering scent where I had walked round the opening. 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 willow clumps.

In places of possible ambush the grizzly is extremely cautious. He is not a coward, but he does not propose to blunder into trouble. When within thirty feet of the waiting feast this bear redoubled his precautions against surprise and ambush by walking round the carcass. Then, slipping stealthily to the edge of a thick willow clump, he flung himself into it with a fearful roar, instantly leaping out on the other side ready to charge anything that might start from the willows; but nothing started. Standing erect, tense in every muscle, he waited a moment in expectant attitude. Then he charged, roaring, through another willow clump, and another, until he had investigated every possible place of concealment near the carcass. Not finding an enemy, he at last went to the carcass.

When he had feasted for a few minutes he suddenly rose, snarled, and sniffed along my trail for a few yards. He uttered a few growling threats. That a grizzly cannot climb a tree is a fact in natural history which gave me immense satisfaction. But the bear returned to the carcass and finished his feast. Finally, having raked grass and trash over the remains, he doubled back on his trail and faded into the twilight.

Grizzlies often show courage and strategy by hiding and lying in ambush for a pursuing hunter. On one occasion I had been following a grizzly for a number of days, trying to get his photograph at short range. He knew I was in pursuit. Finally, he doubled back on his trail a short distance and crouched behind a log. His tracks as I followed them passed along the other side of this log, and continued plainly ahead of me across the top of a snow-covered moraine. But as I approached the log, the wind stirred the bear’s fur and gave me warning.

A grizzly appears to understand that his tracks reveal his movements. I was once following one that had been wounded by a hunter to see where he went and what he did. He circled from his trail and came back to it over logs and rocks, which left no markings, and hid in a clump of fir trees. On seeing this possible place of ambush by the trail, I turned aside and climbed a pine to reconnoitre. When the bear realized that I had discovered him, he made off in anger.

Round the foot of Long’s Peak I followed a bear through a shallow snow, hoping to overtake and photograph him. Most of the snow had melted off the logs and bowlders. After trailing him four or five miles I came to a bowlder where he had climbed up and looked around. Possibly he wished to see how close I was to him; possibly he was deciding just where he would carry out a plan for outwitting me. At any rate, he jumped from the bowlder, walked round it, traveled a short distance slowly, then set off on a run, going east. After I had followed his trail for more than a mile, his tracks ceased in a rocky, snowless area where his footprints did not show.

I thought I should find his tracks in the snow on the farther edge of the rocky space; but they were not there. Then, in the snow, I went entirely round the edge of the rocky space without seeing a track. Thinking that possibly the grizzly was hiding in this small rocky area, I at once cautiously circled every place behind which he might be concealed, but without finding him.

Out in the snow I made a larger circle and at last discovered his tracks. Entering the rocky space, he had turned abruptly to the left and traveled about one hundred feet. Then, from the rocks, he had made a long leap into a clump of bushes, from this leaped into another clump of bushes, and finally into the snow. He thus left the rocky place without leaving any telltale tracks within thirty feet of it.

He started westward—back toward the bowlder—alongside his first trail, and traveled for about a mile parallel to it and less than one hundred feet from it. Near the bowlder he waited in concealment at a point where he could watch his former trail, and evidently stayed there until I passed.

Then he traveled on a short distance to another small rocky area. Doubling in his tracks, he came back for one hundred feet or so in the trail he had thus made. Working toward his first trail, he hid his tracks by leaping among fallen timbers and bushes, and at last made a leap into his first trail by the bowlder, where he made many tracks in the snow. Along this old trail he traveled east again a short distance, stepping precisely in his former footprints.

Out of this trail he leaped upon the top of a low, snowless bowlder on the right, and from this upon another bowlder. He walked along a bare fallen log. Here I must have searched more than two hours before detecting two or three broken sticks, which gave me a clew to the direction he had taken. From the log he walked upon a cross log and then plunged through fifty or sixty feet of thicket which showed no trail. From where he had emerged on the farther side of the thicket there was little by which to trace him for the next quarter of a mile. He zigzagged over fallen logs and leaped upon snowless bowlders until he came to a tree leaning against a cliff. Up this tree he walked to a ledge, where, fortunately, there was a little snow which recorded his track. He followed the ledge to the top of the cliff and, leaving this, ran for four or five miles. It took me twenty-four hours to unravel the various tangles, and I finally gave up the idea of photographing him. Long before I arrived at the top of the cliff I had concluded that I was following a reasoning animal, one who might be more alert than I myself.

Though a grizzly has both speed and strength, he generally uses his wits and thus obtains the desired end in the easiest way. Three or four persons have told me that they have seen instances of a grizzly bear’s taking the part of an acrobat. The bear, by this means, endeavored to attract the attention of cattle, with the idea of drawing them close and seizing one of them. Among his pranks he turned an occasional somersault, rolled over and over, and chased his tail.

A Utah grizzly killed about one thousand head of cattle in fifteen years. During this time there was a large reward offered for his death. Numerous attempts were made to capture him. Old hunters and trappers tried with rifles and traps; expeditions of men, horses, and dogs pursued him. All these years he lived on as usual in his home territory, made a kill every few days, and was seen only two or three times.

Another grizzly, eluding pursuers, slaughtered live stock freely, and managed to survive thirty-five years of concerted efforts to kill or capture him. There was a rich reward on his head.

There are similar accounts of Clubfoot, Three-Toes, and other outlaw grizzlies. All of these bears slaughtered cattle by the hundreds in their home territory, lived with heavy prices on their heads, and for years outwitted skillful hunters and trappers, escaping the well-organized posse again and again. Knowing many of the hunters and their skillful methods, and the repeated triumphs of other grizzlies over combinations and new contrivances, I am convinced that the grizzly bear is an animal who reasons.

When in a trap or cornered, a wounded grizzly sometimes feigns death. Apparently he considers his situation desperate and sees in this method the possibility of throwing his assailant off guard. Considering that need of feigning death is recent,—since the arrival of the white man with high-power rifle and insidious steel trap,—this strategy appears like a clear case of reasoning.

The grizzly is difficult to anticipate. His strategy usually defeats the hunter. One wounded bear may at once charge the hunter; the next may run from him; and the third may hold the ground defiantly. The grizzly meets what to us seem identical situations in unlike manner, and makes sudden changes in his habits without our seeing the cause for such changes. Quickly he makes the acquaintance of the new and promptly adjusts himself to it. If it is dangerous he avoids it, if advantageous he uses it.

Often in traveling to a distant place the grizzly goes on the run, but just as often he goes at slower speed. If plodding slowly, he conveys the impression of deliberating. He often appears to be thinking, and probably is. Though shuffling along, he is bound for a definite place with the intention of doing a definite thing. Suddenly he changes his mind and goes off in the opposite direction.

I have seen a bear hustling along, with his mind apparently made up; he is in a hurry to carry out some plan, to reach a given place, or see some particular thing. All at once he notices where he is and stops. He remembers that he intended to look at such and such a thing on the way but has neglected to do so. He hesitates a few moments, then goes back.

On rare occasions the grizzly walks along, perhaps in bountiful summer, thinking of nothing in particular, with head swinging slowly from side to side. Something arouses him; he may promptly retreat or he may investigate. You never know what a grizzly will do next or how he will do it, but everything he does is with fresh interest and delightful individuality.

An old grizzly pursued by wolves once gave me a fearful exhibition of nature. He came running across an opening in the southern end of North Park with several wolves close in pursuit. He acted as though away from home—hard pressed, bewildered, and in a strange territory. The wolves were crowding him closely as he reached the edge of the woods. With a sudden move he wheeled and struck at the one in the lead. Instantly the others were around him, snarling and snapping. The grizzly wheeled and struck quickly to right and left, striking outward and downward somewhat after the fashion of a cat striking at a near-by object. Then he turned and ran on.

A few miles farther on he again crossed an opening. Fresh wolves were now in pursuit. I saw several of the pack lying down, panting and resting. The grizzly had no rest, he was hard pressed. At one place, closely crowded, he backed up in the corner of a cliff and here put up such a fight that he drove the wolves off for the time being. He killed one and badly injured two of them. Towards evening he took refuge in a denlike place for which he evidently had been heading. The following morning a number of the wolves were gone, but the others were waiting for the grizzly in front of the den.

A grizzly with three feet managed to maintain himself in a territory near my home, and I twice heard of his outwitting hunters and their hounds. The territory was occasionally invaded by trappers but he avoided their snares. Hunters with dogs finally drove him off his domain. Where he went, what struggles he had, what masterly retreats he made, what troubles he had in making a living, and what his final tragic end, I do not know. That he survived so long with one foot gone indicates that he was a bear of powers, a bear with a career, whose biography or autobiography would be full of action and adventure.

It cannot be stated too strongly that the grizzly is not a coward. Every drop of blood in his body is courageous. He has no fear. He is intelligent enough to know that man is a dangerous enemy—that it is almost suicidal for a bear to expose himself to man. There is no animal of the wilds whom he avoids. Man, with field-glasses, dogs, and a rifle that will kill at the distance of a mile, are odds too great for him. He wisely endeavors to avoid man, but if he cannot do so, when the fight comes he exhibits one hundred per cent of courage and efficiency.

Only a few generations ago the grizzly was instinctively courageous, never avoiding a foe; with courage he met every issue, almost invariably coming out triumphant. But when man is the issue, the grizzly, seeing more than one move ahead, has the wisdom and the greater courage to suppress the old instinctive trait, for its use would be ineffective.

For years I have watched, studied, and enjoyed the grizzly, have seen his actions under a variety of influences—fighting and playing, sleeping and food-getting. I have watched him when he was under normal influences and abnormal ones; when pursuer and when pursued; have kept him within the focus of my field-glasses for hours at a time, and have trailed for days with a camera this master animal.

The grizzly is so dignified and so strangely human-like that I have felt degraded every time I have seen him pursued with dogs. A few times I have outwitted him; more often he has outwitted me. We have occasionally met unexpectedly; sometimes each stared without alarm, and at other times each fled in an opposite direction. Sometimes the grizzly is guided by instinct, but more often his actions are triumphantly directed by reason.

Cubs and Mother

The life-story of every bear is a story of adventure. A hunter with whom I was camping in the No-Summer Mountains of Colorado came in one June evening with the report that he had killed a mother grizzly. He had searched for her cubs, which he thought must be near by, but had failed to discover them. The hunter said he had come upon her unexpectedly in a thicket and she had at once charged, probably thinking herself cornered. One well-aimed shot in the head had dropped her.

The following morning I went with the hunter to bring in the grizzly. She was a beautiful silver-tip of about four hundred pounds. We made another thorough search for the cubs without finding them. Just as the hunter was about to start skinning the bear I caught sight of a cub peeping from beneath large slide rocks not thirty feet away. Then another frightened cub face appeared.

After hesitating for a moment both cubs came out and stood looking intently toward us and their dead mother. After a stare, as we did not move, they took a few steps toward us. Hesitating again, they stopped, rose up and looked around, and then hastily retreated to the rocks. Evidently their mother had trained them to stay wherever she left them until she returned.

But they had waited long. For a while they stood and whimpered very much like hungry, forsaken children. They could scent their mother, and see her, too, and were too hungry and lonesome to endure without her longer. Again they started slowly toward us, walking closely side by side. When very near they paused, rose on hind legs, and looked intently at us and in wonder and longing at their lifeless mother. Then they went to her. One little cub sniffed in a bewildered, puzzled way over her cold, still body. He gently stroked her fur with his paw and then sat down and began to whimper and cry.

THE CHALLENGE
The Cub on the Right is an Alaskan Grizzly of the Big Brown Bear Type

The other little cub stood looking with awe into his mother’s moveless face, but at last shook off his fright and smelled her bloody head. Then, all forlorn, he turned to look eagerly into the face of the hunter, who had been watching the little cub all this while with big tears upon his cheeks. After a moment he took a step toward him, rose up, and trustingly put fore paws upon his knee, looking seriously, confidingly into his face. We carried these little orphans to camp, and the hunter raised them. Their mother was the last animal that he ever shot.

The cubs are born in the hibernating cave in January, February, or March, probably the majority in February. The number at birth commonly is two, but sometimes there are three and occasionally even four. Each is about the size of a chipmunk, weighing from ten to twenty ounces.

Generally the mother does not come forth for either food or drink for some weeks after the cubs are born. She stays in the den a month longer than bears without cubs. Curled around the little bears in the den, she nourishes them from her store of fat. The cubs grow slowly, and on leaving the den are often only a trifle larger than a cotton-tail rabbit, weighing from ten to fifteen pounds. The grizzly appears to give birth to cubs only every second year. Though yearlings have been seen with a mother and cubs, it is likely that they did not belong to her.

In proportion to the size of the mother, the grizzly is one of the smallest of animals at birth, weigh ing about one fifth of one per cent of her weight. A baby kangaroo at birth is even smaller proportionally, however, and is said to weigh less than one tenth of one per cent of the mother’s weight. A baby blue whale is about four per cent of the weight of the mother and sometimes weighs three tons and has a length of twenty-five feet.

Why is the young grizzly so small? It will readily be seen that while hibernating, neither eating nor drinking for a few months, the mother grizzly would not be able to nourish two or more very lusty youngsters. It is probable that in the process of evolution Nature selected the small grizzly cubs to perpetuate the species.

While visiting the Blackfeet Indians in western Montana one February, I saw a young Indian woman nursing two baby grizzly bears. The mother grizzly had been killed a day or two before and the cubs taken from the den. They were little bits of warm, pink life, scantily covered with hair. Each weighed not more than one pound. They were blind and toothless, but had sharp tiny claws. They had their eyes open in about fourteen days, and early began to cut their teeth. For several days the Indian woman suckled the cubs, then she fed them on cow’s milk and succeeded in raising them.

Many are the colors of grizzlies. I once saw a mother with four cubs, each of a different color. She herself was cream-colored, but one of the cubs was nearly black, another gray, the third brown, and the fourth black and white. A grizzly may be a blond, or a brunette, or one of half a dozen in-between shades. Often, as he ages, he becomes a "silver-tip." Probably dark gray is the prevailing color.

From the time the mother and cubs emerge from the winter den in the spring until they enter a den to hibernate the next winter, they are on the move much of the time. Only occasionally does the old bear leave the cubs behind, and this as a rule is not for long. She is constantly watchful for their safety and makes haste to place herself between the cubs and any possible danger. In retreating she usually leads the way, the cubs following closely, but if nearly cornered she is likely to act as rear guard.

Crossing the mountains one stormy spring day, I paused in a whirl of mist and wet snow to look for the trail. Peering ahead, I beheld a grizzly bear emerging from the gloom only a few yards away. Close behind her were two small cubs. Mother Grizzly, as much surprised as I, instantly retreated. With an impatient expression and a growl of anger she wheeled quickly about and boxed the cubs right and left like a nervous mother. Urged on with spanks from behind, the youngsters turned back in the direction they had come from, and all vanished in the falling snow.

Though gentle and patient, the grizzly mother uses a limited amount of cuffing and spanking with the cubs, especially if they are in danger. One day from far across a cañon I was watching two cubs walking along a wild-life trail in front of their mother, when a pack outfit appeared on my side of the cañon. The mother and the cubs saw it, and she at once turned up a gulch, pushing the cubs before her. But the youngsters were interested in the pack-animals and, standing still, forgot everything in their eager watching. The mother went from one to the other, pushing them forward. The instant she left one, the cub stopped and turned to look back in eager curiosity at the strange sight across the cañon. Without any show of temper the mother pushed one ahead a few yards and then returned to the other and urged it forward.

The mother protects her cubs at any cost. Many a grizzly mother has died in defense of her offspring, and I do not know of an instance of a mother’s running away when her cubs were exposed to danger.

At Grand Lake, Colorado, one June day, I went with a trapper on his rounds, thinking that he might have trapped a grizzly. He had a cub trapped by a fore paw. As we approached the spot, I chanced to climb over a pile of fallen timber and from the top of this I saw Mother Grizzly lying in wait a short distance in front of the cub. She had dug out a place behind a log and was lying there concealed, unmistakably waiting for the trapper.

One morning late in May, while I stood behind a tree watching two young beaver at play in the pond, a small grizzly cub, of the same brown color as the beaver, walked out to the end of a log that lay partly in the water. He was interested in the beaver. Reaching down, he touched the water with right fore paw, whimpered, but hesitated about going in. While he stood looking trustingly at them, the beaver, who had been watching him, dived into the pond.

Cubs as well as human children sometimes become separated and lost from even the most watchful of mothers. This little cub was so thin and weak that he must have been lost for some days. In the woods a trace of snow that had fallen a day or two before still lingered. This enabled me to back-track the cub to where he had probably spent a part of the night, about a quarter of a mile up stream from the pond. His tracks showed that he had wandered much.

If I left the cub in the woods it appeared improbable that his mother would find him before he starved, and it was unlikely that I should find her, even though I continued the dangerous business of searching for her. I caught the cub without effort, and, after a few feeble attempts to scratch and bite me, he calmed down, licked my hand, and then began to suck a raisin which I handed him from my pocket. He was a tiny little fellow and could not have weighed more than nine or ten pounds. I carried him to the nearest ranch. The children were glad to have him, and a letter from them some months afterwards told me that “Maverick” was happy in his new home.

From a tree-top perch I once had a good glimpse of bear life, as a mother grizzly with two young cubs stopped by a tree to dig out mice. In the midst of her digging mother grizzly caught a faint scent of me and instantly was all concentration. On tiptoe, motionless as a statue, she stood looking, listening, and gathering information with her nostrils. Then she relaxed, dropped on all fours, and for a moment seemed uncertain as to her next move. One of the cubs concluded to suckle. Instantly the mother knocked him headlong with a side swing of her left fore paw. Such thoughtlessness in the face of possible danger was evidently too much to be excused.

The little cub landed some yards away, tumbling heels over head. He showed no surprise, in fact pretended that this was a part of his plan. The instant he rolled on his feet he sniffed the earth eagerly as though he had made a remarkable discovery and started to dig. Without uncovering a thing he presently raced away to overtake mother and the other cub.

Cubs appear to depend upon mother’s milk until they are about six months of age. Before this time they may eat a little solid food now and then, but this is done more out of curiosity and in imitation of mother than from desire. It is likely to be July before they do even this and late August before they eat solid things with any regularity. They are not likely to be weaned until just before denning-up time. The Indians in Alaska told me that sometimes the cubs are not weaned until the second autumn of their lives. This certainly is sometimes true, but I think it peculiar to Alaska.

Comical and cunning the cubs appear as they mimic the mother. When she stands up with fore paws against her breast, looking intently into the distance, the cubs stand up with their paws upon their breasts and look in the same direction. When mother turns or sniffs, these cunning little imitators also turn and sniff. The cubs walk up to a spot where the mother has been sniffing and digging and there sniff and dig. If mother continues digging rather long, they find a place of their own and dig. If mother reaches up and pulls down a fruit-laden limb and takes a bite, they too must pull down a twig of some kind and at least look at it.

Around the shores of Chickadee Pond a mother grizzly and her two cubs spent a July day digging out grass roots, willow roots, and probably also grubs. I watched them for hours. Occasionally one took a mouthful of grass or a bite of blue mertensia. After a while mother waded into the pond; cubs of course followed.

The large yellow pond-lilies were in bloom, and mother went about biting off stalk after stalk, apparently forgetting the cubs. One of them grabbed a lily stem and bit two or three times without cutting it. Finally, leaning back, he pulled it apart. He chewed it a little but didn’t seem to enjoy it. Then, holding the lily in one paw, he thrust the great golden bulb into his mouth and ate it with apparent satisfaction. The other little cub after much tugging finally uprooted a lily. He chewed at the four-foot stalk in three or four places. Then, taking the bulb in both fore paws, he ate it as though it were an apple.

It is ever a joy to watch a grizzly and her children. A mother grizzly crossing a lake just south of Long’s Peak swam low in the water with a cub sitting contentedly on her back. She came directly towards the shore where I was standing concealed behind trees. As she approached I threw a stone into the water close to her. Wheeling about like lightning, Mother Grizzly started at full speed for the farther shore. The cub tipped over in the water, but hastily took a tail-hold and was towed rapidly away.

I once saw a grizzly and cub walking leisurely along the top of a ridge above timber-line, the cub with long strides following in mother’s footprints. There were perhaps six or more inches of snow. I sat still. They were coming almost towards me. Watching carefully with my glass, I noticed that the cub was limping. He suddenly sat down and bawled. The mother, after walking on several steps, turned to look at the cub, who was holding his hind foot between his fore paws and examining his hurt. I heard him whimper two or three times, and finally mother went back. She looked down at the bottom of the foot rather indifferently, then turned and walked on. The cub followed after.

When they passed near me the mother rose suddenly on hind legs, stood with fore paws held against her chest, and looked and looked, and sniffed and sniffed. Little cub, forgetting his sore hind foot, stood up with little paws against his breast, stretched his neck, looked, and sniffed—a perfect little imitation of the mother. She moved off several steps and stopped on the very edge of a precipitous ridge to scout. The cub placed his fore paws against mother’s side and from this secure position peeped over and beyond her. But they did not detect me and soon went leisurely on.

Two miles farther I crept as close as I could and paused to watch. The mother was digging, the cub watching eagerly. As her digging continued for some time, he moved away, sniffed two or three times, and then began digging rapidly on his own account. While both were digging, there was a whir of wings and a sweep of shadows, and a flock of white ptarmigan alighted among broken ledges near by. While I was watching them, a flock of mountain sheep came along the out-thrusting ridge and paused to play for a few moments on the sky-line. In pairs they faced, then reared up and sparred with their horns; they cut lively circles around one another. A rugged, snowy peak loomed grim behind the scene, and the dense forest spread away for miles below. The bears, the ptarmigan, and the sheep, the white peak, the purple forest, and the blue sky gave me a striking experience and left a splendid picture. As I turned to go, the cub was giving all his attention to the play of the sheep.

The almost continual play of the cubs is a never-ending source of interest. They race, they wrestle, they box, and they play hide and seek with utmost enthusiasm. They climb upon mother’s back, they swat and pummel her and maul her. She will endure this by the hour with absolute indifference. Mother sometimes plays with the cubs but more often lets them play with her, or, unconcerned, simply watches them in their scrambles.

Playing cubs are strikingly boylike in their ways. They tumble and roll about with lively energy. Their boxing is a ludicrously earnest show. Standing up they clinch, struggle, break away and watch for a new advantage. They strike first with one paw, then with the other, then with both at once. They come close, dodge, and jump back; they hold one paw high and the other low; sometimes they guard the face with one arm while striking with the other. Often they strike wildly, evidently intending to miss; they bristle up, growl, and have great fun, pretending to be more in earnest and terrible than they really are.

No two boys ever had more excitement and fun swimming in a river than did two cub bears whom I once watched. These cubs raced, splashed, and pushed one another under the water. They dived and swam beneath the surface and from a bowlder plunged into it with terrific splashes, sometimes forward, sometimes backward.

One of the happiest incidents which I have seen in the grizzly bear world was a mother grizzly who had discovered some honey in a standing dead tree, perhaps five or six feet above the ground. Tearing open the edges of the hole, she helped herself to a quantity of the honey, then called her two cubs, who were playing a short distance away. They needed no second invitation when they saw mother standing on hind legs and leaning forward with fore paws against the trunk of the tree. Up the incline of her back they raced merrily, and, standing upon mother’s head, they ate with eagerness this wonderful feast of honey.

The cubs den up with their mother the winter following their birth. The mother is their companion until they are a year and a half old, sometimes longer. During their second summer she commonly leaves the cub—or cubs, as the case may be—to make their way in the world alone. Once the family ties are broken, the grizzly is seldom seen with other bears.

If two, three, or four in number, the yearlings run together another year, and are chummy and inseparable. One becomes the leader and is followed faithfully. If trouble arises, they are united and devoted little people. To kill or injure one of the youngsters means that a hunter is promptly charged by the others, and often killed or injured.

The cubs are great ramblers. They may wander through unoccupied regions and over the territory of other bears. They are not considered intruders by other bears. There are numerous interesting incidents in the companionship of these year-olds, and sometimes of two-year-olds, who have explored miles of territory, chased animals, played, and enjoyed themselves together, and in moments of danger united and fought the enemy. Yearling bears den up together the second winter and occasionally also the third winter. Generally, however, after the second winter, that is to say, when two and a half years old, they separate. From this time on the grizzly lives alone.

Where does he make his first home? Sometimes the young grizzly crowds into the territory adjoining his birthplace, but at other times he must wander far away to find territory not already occupied. In the past, when grizzlies were numerous, the increased population each year must have compelled readjustments and forced a reduction of the area claimed by each individual. But in these times, except perhaps in two or three National Parks, there are thousands of square miles here and there over the West without a grizzly on them. But the grizzly is fond of his home territory, and in it, except for occasional visits into the outside world, he spends his life.

His Exclusive Territory

A mother grizzly and her year-and-a-half-old cub came shuffling along the shore of a little lake in the No-Summer Mountains. Where a brook flowed into the lake she stopped, looked at the cub, and possibly grunted something to him. She may have said, "Here, Johnny, is a territory not claimed by other bears; this is to be your domain." I watched him as she went ambling away alone. He stood looking at the ground for several seconds, then turned to see his mother in the distance, and finally surveyed his surroundings. Pushed off into the world to shift for himself, the cub walked up the mountain-side and disappeared in the woods.

I had seen this cub and his mother on the other side of the Medicine Bow Mountains, at least fifty miles away. When I saw her leaving the cub to make his way alone, I wanted to ask, “Is it common for a mother grizzly to take her children to the territory that is to be their home?” The selection of this domain may sometimes be made by the mother but most often, probably, it is made by the cubs.

But, selection of the home territory aside, the grizzly leads a solitary life; he lives apart from other bears, has his thought, his work, his recreation, and his play by himself. Alone he hunts for food, alone he wanders for adventure. Singly he fights his foes, and in solitude he dens up in winter. A possible explanation of this may lie in the fact that being alone is an advantage to an animal of his size and enormous food-requirements. Then, too, since the advent of the white man with the long-range rifle, it is an advantage to act singly. The grizzly’s solitary habit may be one which is an advantage in the perpetuation of the species. Only twice have I known of father, mother, and cubs being seen together, and I have never heard of their denning together.

A grizzly has his own home territory. He claims the exclusive use of certain lands. In only one instance have I known two companion grizzlies to occupy the same region permanently. These two were often seen eating, traveling, and resting near each other. Though the grizzly wanders off the home territory for an occasional visit, in it through the seasons and through the years he makes his living; he defends it against invaders, and in it he commonly dies.

Most wild creatures have their home territories, areas which they claim the right to use to the exclusion of others of the same species. The bear is likely to hold more territory than any other kind of life; and he will dominate in the territory all kinds of life that may temporarily conflict with his use of it. Most birds and beasts use their large or tiny bit of earth in pairs, flocks, herds, or colonies. The grizzly uses his alone. His domain may be in part the claimed territory of other species; lions, beavers, wolves, eagles, and other life may use it.

The grizzly bear is the aristocrat of the wilds. He is lordly and reserved. He will meet a bighorn sheep or other wild animal, and, though aware of its presence, pay no apparent attention to it. If near another bear, either a black or a grizzly, while appearing to be disinterested, or pretending not to have seen him, he is in fact watching the other’s movements. A black bear avoids him. Sometimes two grizzlies who have been feeding near each other deliberately meet, or come face to face. Each, with admirable acting, feigns intense surprise that the other is there. They bristle up, exchange a few unfriendly roars and growls, make a threatening move or two, and then go on. Sometimes they pass as though unconscious of each other’s presence.

A network of trails extends over the grizzly’s mountain home. These reach food-supply centres, lookout and resting stations, swimming-holes, and other places often visited. Generally when going anywhere the grizzly follows a trail; if pursued, he is most certain to do so. Many of these trails are dim, but others are deeply worn. He may sometimes make a new trail, but in general he follows the old ones which have been used by generations of bears. His domain may be crossed by other wild-life trails, which he may or may not use.

Topography, mountain barriers, streams, or other natural boundary-lines in part determine the form of the grizzly’s home territory. The size is determined by the food-supply, by the bear population of the region, and by individual prowess. A bear of exceptional prowess may hold an empire.

The territory dominated by old “Timberline” had an area of about eighty square miles. The western boundary-line followed the rim of the Continental Divide for nearly fifteen miles. Meeker Ridge and Cony Creek were other boundary-lines, while at the north stood Chief’s Head Mountain and Long’s Peak. Toward the south the territory narrowed and was not more than two miles across; in the centre it must have been nearly ten miles wide. An extensive area lay above the timber-line. There were forests primeval, a number of cañons and streams, numerous small lakes and beaver ponds. In this varied and extensive region old "Timberline" had all the necessities of life and many of the luxuries of beardom.

The claw-marks and the tooth-marks which grizzlies and some other animals place on trees are often interpreted as being “No Trespass” signs, indications of boundary-lines, survey marks, or the seal of ownership of the landlord. If these marks are extremely high, they are supposed to inspire respect for the one occupying the region, or to cause terror to the invader, unless he be large enough to reach higher. But I question any such significance attached to these marks. Ofttimes the bear leaves these marks in the centre of his home range, sometimes within the home territory of a lion or a big-horn. While the idea of its being a mark of ownership is a most artistic and entertaining one, it does not appear to have any natural-history value.

I have seen bears, reaching high, tear out pieces of bark, and have also seen both bears and lions put claw-marks upon trees. Generally this clawing and biting was done during languid and leisurely moments when there was nothing definite to do. One day I watched a grizzly stand on hind feet upon a five-foot snowdrift where he had been lying. Placing his front paws against a spruce as high as he could reach, he clawed the bark indifferently. It was more of a muscle-stretching performance than anything else. He took a tiny bite out of the tree and walked off with the strip of bark in his mouth. Then he gave it a playful shake and dropped it.

It is well known that wolves, beavers, and some other animals have information places. These may or may not be intentionally established. Some of these places are where wild-life trails cross, or are near water-holes, salt-licks, play places, or some neutral feeding-ground. They may be frequented exclusively by one species or by several. Even the casual visits and bark-biting of bears incidentally contribute something of interest to the next visitors. In these places an animal may learn of the recent visit of one of his species or of a dreaded enemy, or may even find information as to the sex of the visitors. They are thus akin to country cross-roads where gossip is exchanged concerning human affairs.

A grizzly that I was trailing turned abruptly aside to visit a news station of this kind. Plainly it was a loafing or frequented spot for wild life; from the nature of the topography and from numerous tracks seen during later visits I learned that it was a stamping-ground and a trail-crossing. Foxes, coyotes, skunks, rats, deer, and mountain sheep had been visitors. The manner in which the bear turned aside to visit the place suggested that he had been there before; but he may just have caught interesting, newsy scent which attracted him there for the first time. His actions were those of one who is hunting for news.

At night the bear may lie down in almost any place, but during the daytime he selects one of the safest places in his realm. If in the high mountains this may be on a ridge above the timber-line, or on a treeless hilltop from which he commands a wide outlook, or in the end of a cañon, or in a thicket. Wherever the place, it is one where the bear cannot be easily surprised, and where his scouts—his scent, his sight, and his ears—would easily warn him of the approach of any possible danger.

When pursued, the grizzly tries to keep within his domain. Usually he travels only seven or eight miles in one direction, then doubles back, circles, and zigzags. Only two or three times when trailing the bear have I known him to travel more than fourteen or fifteen miles in one direction. In one long trailing experience I observed that the bear, with many twists and zigzags, covered his domain practically twice over. I trailed the same grizzly two Septembers, three years apart. I started him the second time near the place where I had started him before, and he followed for three days over almost exactly the same route taken the first time.

Three prospectors and I were rowing across a lake in the Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho. When about half a mile from the farther shore, we spied a grizzly swimming across. We pursued, and when we got near, one of the men proposed to rope him, saying that the bear could now tow us ashore. The other two protested so vigorously that the rope was not thrown. Fortunate for us that it was not, for had it fallen over the neck of Mr. Grizzly, the chances are that he might have climbed into the boat. In Alaska I saw a grizzly out at sea, swimming vigorously along between two islands that were seven miles apart. The grizzly is fond of water, is an excellent and enduring swimmer, and in the water fights effectively.

While I was on a winter trip into the San Juan Mountains a prospector told me of an occurrence which he had just witnessed. A snow-slide crashing down into a gulch close to a grizzly den aroused the bear, who came out with a rush to see what was going on. He did not lose his head, but looked about until the air cleared of the swirling snow-dust. Then he walked round the wreckage brought down by the slide and finally climbed it and explored the opening it had smashed through the woods. After being out more than an hour he re-entered the den.

Though living a solitary life in the seclusion of the wilderness, this bear was again routed out before spring. His den was only a few feet above the stream, on the mountain-side. The débris brought down by the snow-slide forty or fifty feet up the gulch dammed the stream and raised the water so that it leaked through the earth into the den. Again driven forth from his den, the bear—so his tracks in the snow showed—after one pause climbed to another den on the mountain-side about two miles distant.

The grizzly spends about one third of each year in hibernation. He may use the same den year after year, repairing and reshaping it; or perhaps he will dig a new one. Sometimes he goes outside his own territory for a den to his liking. He is sometimes driven forth during hibernation by landslides as well as by snow-slides and floods.

A grizzly is strongly attached to his home territory and spends most of his time in it. Occasionally, and in exceptional cases regularly, he wanders far away. A scarcity of food may cause him to leave home temporarily; or excessive food elsewhere may attract him.

Bears and lions are not neighborly, and at best each ignores the other; but one bear I knew followed a lion for weeks, and others have occasionally done likewise, profiting by the food-supply—the excessive killing of the lion. Here was unusual tolerance, almost friendly association, between antagonistic wild folk.

The abundance of food at any place in a bear’s territory gives other grizzlies public rights. A berry-patch or a stream which has a supply equal to the needs of many bears, a beaver pond, or a lake, may become a public feeding-place. A flood, a storm, a snow-slide, or other agency may take the lives of a number of animals—cause a congestion of food in any territory.

That there sometimes is fighting in these public places, and that one bear sometimes tries to hog a larger food-supply than he can use does not change the custom of the species. Incidentally, this violation of general or public rights but reminds us how human-like are bears in their habits, good and bad.

Lewis and Clark found a number of grizzlies congregated at places along the Missouri River. Apparently these had got together like those in Yellowstone Park, because of congested food-supply. It appears that at regular crossings along the river numbers of buffalo were annually drowned, and carcasses regularly strewn at about the same places.

There are a number of regions in Alaska where a bear lives in his own chosen locality but regularly goes to a public feeding-ground. Much of the food is along the seashore and on the lower courses of streams. There is also a food-belt above the timber-line, where mice abound and where there is grass upon which bears feed. The seasonal nature of part of the food may thus encourage or compel bears of one locality to travel a long distance to secure the only food obtainable.

If there be straggling grizzlies who wander about like gypsies, they are the rare exception: the nearest to them were the few "buffalo grizzlies," those that in old days followed the migrating buffalo herds.

Though the problem of getting a living makes up most of the grizzly’s daily programme, he knows the wisdom of taking time off and having a change from the routine of life. The ability to concentrate in eager play is probably one of the best evidences of the grizzly’s unusual brain-power. It is good to know that, although most of the time he lives alone and takes things seriously, he also has the power to relax and to build and restore himself in play. This may help to give contentment to solitary life in home territory.

When well fed, the grizzly sometimes strolls over his estate and pauses to watch the antics of other wild life. He will stand in a stream to see the ways of water-ouzels. The sliding of otter at play appears to interest him, and I have discovered otter-slides by following his tracks to them. Once, when I was enjoying the play of a number of beaver racing and splashing in a pond, a grizzly watched them for a time from the edge of the woods, then came out on the dam and sat down where he could better see them. Though a solitary and self-contained baron, he has many entertaining interests.

There are times at home, or abroad, when the grizzly is not deeply interested in anything, when time hangs a little heavy on his hands, or on his mind. Sometimes at home he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He isn’t hungry, he can’t think of any place where he cares to go, he isn’t interested in swimming, he doesn’t even want to play. He doesn’t care to lie down and sleep. He starts off languidly, stops, moves on, rears up, takes a bite out of the bark of a tree; but he doesn’t care for the bark to eat and doesn’t even look up to see how high he has bitten.

The grizzly is a descendant of a long line of wanderers and may occasionally explore surrounding territory for sheer adventure. If much harassed by settlers, he will move to a permanent home in lands far distant. It would be comparatively easy for a grizzly to become acquainted with four or five thousand miles of territory. He travels rapidly, has endurance, and in a single night could cover a hundred miles or more.

Some bears get the idea of territorial expansion and go forth to seize a part of a neighbor’s hunting-ground. Thus one bear may be annoyed by another who makes too frequent raids into his domain, and feel called upon to defend his territory against the invader. When past prime a bear is sometimes driven forth into an unfriendly world by a young, vigorous conqueror.

On one occasion I tracked a grizzly for sixty miles from the margin of its home range. It traveled along a line that indicated it had a definite place in mind to which it was going. It explored a cañon region, and, a day or two later, as tracks in the snow showed, went back to its old range along the trail it had followed in leaving it.

Going one autumn from Estes Park to North Park, Colorado, I came upon a grizzly’s track in the upper end of Forest Cañon. For several miles it had followed an old wild-life trail. It crossed the Continental Divide, then the No-Summer Mountains. From its trail I judged that it, too, knew where it was going.

Had these bears gone to explore, to see the opportunities of a new region? Or had they returned to old territory which they knew, perhaps to obtain some particular kind of food, or just to have an outing? If seeking new domains, it is possible that they would explore a number of localities before selecting one.

In a few localities bears migrate in the spring and return home in the fall. In these migrations the grizzly breaks his solitary custom and travels in company. Most likely the bears happen to be on the same route at the same time, and, like Pullman passengers, travel together without speaking.

I saw eight grizzly bears one November traveling single file northward from Middle Park. Back-tracking, I found that they had come from the mountainous empire around the southern end of this park. They crossed over into North Park in almost a straight line. Were they, I wondered, heading for a new home, or was this an annual foraging affair? The topography of the country traveled had some bearing on the common route taken, but why were they traveling together? I heard of a number of bears traveling together in northern New Mexico.

On one occasion a hunter on No-Wood Creek in the Big Horns saw seven old grizzlies and two cubs together in the autumn. They were back-tracked to the Yellowstone Park. The garbage-dumps in the Park are frequented by neighboring bears and by numbers from outside the bounds of the Park.

As bears age, their teeth become broken and badly worn away. With difficulty they manage to live. They are often handicapped through loss of toes and by other injuries received in accidents and fights, and through a weakening of faculties due to age. Their normal life appears to be from thirty-five to fifty years.

In the mountains of the north of Yellowstone Park I came upon an extremely old, hard-looking bear. I sat for some time within forty feet of him, watching him rip an old log to pieces to get the ants and white grubs. I was so close that I could see his tongue as it busily licked to right and left. His red-looking eyes stared strangely. I think that he must have been nearly blind, and also that he had nearly lost his ability to scent. When I moved a little closer, he stopped eating, rose up, sniffed the air queerly as though endeavoring to catch scent of me, then listened and looked. He was not at all sure of my presence, though looking in my direction. Two or three days later this old bear was killed. Many of his teeth were gone, and others were badly worn away. His claws were extremely blunt. His head and hide showed many scars—marks of fights and marks from numerous bullets.

One February, when I was spending a few days with a prospector, he brought home the interesting news that he had found a dead grizzly bear. The bear evidently had died while hibernating. He was found curled up in his den and frozen solid. He was old, in poor condition, and his insides were swarming with vermin. I once found a fat young grizzly, apparently healthy, who had the appearance of having frozen to death while hibernating. The time was about the middle of January. The winter to date had been extremely cold, and but little snow had fallen.

I have known of other grizzlies who met strange deaths, but, considering the fairly numerous grizzly population at the time when I was wandering the wilds, the number of bodies found is surprisingly small. One of these grizzlies had perished in a forest fire, another in a desert flood, one was killed at the foot of a cliff by a falling stone, and another was crushed in a snow-slide. Just how or where most old grizzlies come to an end, or what becomes of their bones, I have never been able to learn. It may be that many of them die in the winter dens, which cave in and bury the remains. In closing his adventurous career the grizzly appears to conceal the trail to his last resting-place.

Making a Bear Living

Glancing across a beaver pond one day, I saw a big, grayish grizzly bear walk out into the grassy opening. My presence was not suspected, and I at once focused my field-glasses upon him. Here and there he went. As a grasshopper leaped into the air, the bear—big, fat, awkward, lumbering fellow that he was—leaped into the air after it. Striking the grasshopper with a fore paw, he would knock it to the ground and then pick it up with his teeth. Occasionally he advanced on all fours and slapped his paw upon the grasshopper before it leaped into the air. Once two grasshoppers flew up at the same instant. The bear stood still, located the spot where each had alighted, and then paid his respects to them in turn.

About this time another bear came into the opening within a hundred feet of the scene of activity. He was dark-gray, almost black, in color, but he too was a grizzly. After smelling here and there, the second bear dug out something; I think it must have been a nestful of mice. A minute later in the edge of the tall grass he found a bumblebee’s nest. This he ate in its entirety. Apparently two or three of the bees escaped, to judge from the bear’s rapid defense of his nose. Occasionally, as he walked about, he ate a huge mouthful of grass, taking three or four bites at a time.

Neither of these bears paid the slightest attention to the other. Though each must have known, from both scent and sight, that the other was near, they very successfully appeared to be oblivious of the fact. A beaver pond is often a neutral feeding and swimming place.

"As hungry as a bear" is an expression of variable meaning. About one third of the year a bear has an omnivorous appetite; for another four months he lives on short rations; and during the remainder of the year he goes on a food strike and hibernates.

A bear spends most of his waking hours making a living. He has simply a devastating appetite, and as his taste runs to small stuff and dainties, he is kept on the move.

MEXICAN GRIZZLIES
Group in the Field Columbian Museum

If he denned high up the mountain-side his surroundings are likely to be mostly snow-covered when he comes forth in the spring. Under such conditions he travels miles down the mountains to feed on the early plants already started on the low-lands. He may then slowly follow spring and summer in their steady advance up the far-reaching slopes. To a certain extent his movements are determined by the calendar. He feeds upon the best the season affords. He knows when each article of diet is in season and where in his home territory, or out of it, this abounds. In berry time look for a bear in a berry-patch. Like an enthusiastic fisherman he impatiently waits for the open season—spawning-time—and is on hand early to start fishing.

Perhaps it would be well if we could think of the grizzly as being largely vegetarian. He digs up roots; feeds on weeds, tender shoots of shrubbery, fungi, mushrooms, berries, seeds, rose-hips, pine-nuts, and acorns; and also eats bark like a rabbit and grass like a grass-eater.

The aspens were in bloom, laden with swollen buds and juicy catkins. Many birds were feasting on the catkins; and, looking over into a near-by aspen thicket, I saw a grizzly on a ledge also feeding eagerly. Reaching for a limb, first with one fore paw and then the other, he bit off a few inches and ate twigs, bark, and bloom. Occasionally he seized the top of an aspen with both paws, bent it down, and bit it off. It was similar to the fashion followed in eating wild plums and choke-cherries. A bear will reach up and pull down the top of a plum tree, and, biting it off, eat the small limbs, the bark, the leaves, and the fruit. A grizzly browsing in a wild raspberry-patch will bite off the tops of the vines together with the berries, the leaves, and the thorns. Sometimes the twigs and terminal buds of the pine, the fir, and the spruce are eaten.

One day I saw a grizzly approaching in a manner which indicated that he knew exactly where he was going. On arriving at an alder clump by the brook he at once began tearing off the bark and eating it. On another occasion I watched a bear strip nearly all the bark within reach from a young balsam fir. I have often seen places where bears had bitten and torn chunks of bark from aspens and cottonwoods. Though they also tear the bark from pine and spruce trees, I do not believe that this is eaten as frequently as the bark of the broad-leaved trees.

During the first few weeks after coming out of the winter den much of the grizzly’s food is likely to be of the salad order—juicy young plant stalks, watery shoots, tender bark, young grasses, buds, and leaves. In late autumn, just before hibernating, his last courses are mostly roots and nuts.

However, the normal grizzly is an omnivorous feeder, refusing only human flesh. He will eat anything that is edible—meat (fresh, stale, or carrion), wasps, yellow-jackets, grasshoppers, ants and their eggs, bugs, and grubs. Of course he eats honey and the bees. He also captures snakes, and many a rat and rabbit. He is a destroyer of many pests that afflict man, and in the realm of economic biology he should be rated high. I doubt if a dozen cats, hawks, or owls annually catch as many mice as the average grizzly.

The food of a grizzly is largely determined by locality. Along the streams of the northern Pacific Coast he lives chiefly upon fish, while the grizzlies in the Bitter Root Mountains and British Columbia generally feed upon roots and plants. Those in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado and the Southwest have a mixed diet.

The spring-beauty, the dog-tooth violet, and the shooting-star, both tops and roots, supply the grizzlies of some localities with much of their food, while in other regions they rarely, and possibly never, touch them, though they grow abundantly. The bears in the Bitter Root Mountains eat the shooting-star freely, while the violet and the spring-beauty are favored by the bears of the Selkirks. Yet, strange though it is, the bears of both localities pay but little attention to carcasses which they find. One of the plant roots which the bears of British Columbia dig out in autumn until the ground is frozen, is a wild pea, the hedysarum.

I frequently followed a grizzly whose home territory was close to my cabin in the Rocky Mountains. Apparently he liked everything. One day he spent hours digging out mice. On another he caught a rabbit. He ate a bumblebee’s nest, and, with the nest, the grass, the bees, their young, their honey, and their stings. In a homesteader’s garden he dug out and ate nearly one hundred pounds of potatoes and turnips. The homesteader thought that a hog had been in his garden. In places I too have thought that hogs had been rooting where bears had simply been digging for roots—places with dug and upturned earth often many square yards in extent. They dig out the roots of the wild parsnip, the shooting-star, and grass, the bulbs of lilies, and sometimes the roots of willow and alder.

I endeavored to find out the kind of food preferred by two young bears that I raised. A number of times I approached them with a plate upon which were cake, meat, and honey. In my pockets I generally had also either turnips or apples. When I appeared the bears usually stood on hind legs to see what I had. If they caught the scent of apples or turnips, they thrust paws or noses into my pockets, ignoring the dainties on the plate. Otherwise they grabbed whatever happened to be nearest them on the plate.

All grizzlies appear to be fond of fish. In many places they are most successful fishermen. I watched a grizzly standing in the riffles of an Idaho stream, partly concealed by a willow clump. In half an hour he knocked five large salmon ashore. With a single lightning-like stroke of a fore paw, the fish was flung out of the water and sent flying fifteen or twenty feet. Rarely did he miss. Each of the salmon weighed several pounds.

A grizzly in the Sawtooth region, trying to catch some fish, sprawled out on a low bank by the edge of a stream. Holding himself with one fore paw, he reached over with the other and felt along the bank beneath the water. He did this very much as a fat man might. More frequently the bear makes a stand in driftwood on the bank, or on a log that has fallen into the stream, or behind a willow clump. Sometimes he captures fish by wading up a brook and seizing with claws or teeth those that conceal themselves beneath banks and projecting roots.

A huge brown grizzly mother catching trout for her two fat cubs held my attention one day. The cubs waited on the grassy bank of a brook while the mother brought them trout after trout. She sometimes caught the fish by thrusting her nose into the water beneath the bank or by reaching in with her paws. Occasionally she knocked them out of the water as they endeavored to dash past her in the riffles. The cubs watched her every move; but they were not allowed to enter the water.

Sometimes the grizzly will collect and cover over an excess of carcasses or fish. By a little mountain lake at the headwaters of the Columbia I found a pile of stale salmon beneath a number of large logs and stones. The fish had been caught during spawning-time and stored for future consumption. A day or two later I returned, and tracks showed that the bear had come back and consumed the salmon.

The grizzly eagerly earns his own living; he is not a loafer. Much work is done in digging out a cony, a woodchuck, or some other small animal from a rock-slide. In two hours’ time I have known him to move a mass of earth that must have weighed tons, leaving an excavation large enough for a private cellar. I have come upon numbers of holes from which a grizzly had removed literally tons of stone. In places these holes were five or six feet deep. Around the edges the stones were piled as though for a barricade. In some of them several soldiers could have found room and excellent shelter for ordinary defense.

When a large stone is encountered in his digging the grizzly grabs it with both fore paws, shakes and tears it loose from the earth, and hurls it aside. I have seen him toss huge stones over his shoulder and throw larger ones forward with one paw. Grizzlies show both skill and thought in nearly everything they do. They have strength, alert wits, and clever paws, and commonly work at high speed. Yet they appear deliberate in their actions and work in a painstaking, careful manner.

A grizzly I followed one day paused in a grassy space to dig out mice. In reaching them he discov ered a chipmunk’s burrow. By the time he had secured all the mice and chipmunks he had torn up several square yards of sod. The place had the appearance of having been rooted up by hogs. In this fresh earth the surrounding trees sowed triumphant seeds, and here a cluster of spruces grew where grass had long held sway.

A grizzly seems never too busy or too hungry to stop and look around. “Safety First” appears to be more on his mind than eating. I have seen a grizzly pause from his earth-digging after roots to stop, look, and listen, and I have watched one stop his more than eager digging after marmots to scent the air in his scout for an enemy. And then again I have repeatedly seen him look up from his feast of smelly sirloin to make certain that he was not surprised by man.

While I was watching a flock of mountain sheep feeding down a slope just above the timber-line, a grizzly appeared on the scene. He came slowly upward from the woods. Unless the sheep or the bear changed course there must be a meeting. But the sheep continued to feed downward and the grizzly to walk up. Suddenly the bear stopped and began digging—digging evidently for a chipmunk. A stream of earth was sent flying behind him. Occasionally, too, a huge stone was sent hurtling back. This activity roused the curiosity of the sheep, and they approached within perhaps ten or twelve feet. They were lined up and eagerly watching the grizzly when he became aware of their presence. Disliking their close approach, he leaped at them with a terrific “Woof!” The sheep scattered wildly but ran only a few yards. Again uniting, they fed quietly away, and the grizzly returned to his digging.

In only exceptional cases has the grizzly been a killer of big game. In his search for food he digs out small mammals and kills rabbits and beaver. He is not likely to attempt anything as large as wild sheep, but when a grizzly forms the habit of killing big animals he is likely to make this serve as his entire food-supply. Thus a cattle-killing grizzly is likely to give his chief attention to the killing of cattle, or incidentally to that of sheep, deer, or elk. In the days of the buffalo the great herds frequently were trailed by one or more grizzlies. These, however, probably obtained most of their meat from carcasses left behind by storms, drowning, or other means of death.

The misfortunes of other animals often provide a feast for the grizzly. In going over an area just swept by a forest fire I saw two grizzlies feasting, and there were feasts for numerous others. One was wading in an abandoned beaver pond and feasting on the dead trout that floated on the surface. Two black bears, despite terrible threats from the grizzly, claimed all the fish that came within reach of the shore, but discreetly kept out of the pond. During the second day’s exploration of the burn a bear came upon me while I was eating from a fire-killed, roasted deer. When I moved on, the waiting grizzly walked up to dine.

A grizzly knows the location of every beaver pond in his territory. It is one of his favorite loafing and feeding places. Often he rolls and swims about in the water, enjoying himself immensely. Here he sometimes finds a stale fish or a dead bird brought down by the stream. Sometimes he eats a huge salad of pond-lilies.

But when beaver are gathering the harvest, especially if it is gathered at some distance from the water, he lies in wait and overhauls them. He is ready, too, to seize upon any of these unfortunate fellows who is accidentally killed or injured in gnawing down a tree. Many a time I have seen the fresh tracks of a mother and her cubs on the muddy shore of a beaver pond, and sometimes the tracks of both black bears and grizzlies.

In the course of miles of daily wandering the grizzly may occasionally come upon a wounded animal or a carcass. If his find be large, he may lie close until it is consumed; or he may make a cache of it, returning again and again until it is eaten. Grizzlies will bury an elk in the earth or cover the carcass of a cow with numbers of logs. Nothing is more common than for them to cover a carcass with refuse consisting of twigs, fallen leaves, grass, and trash. They will cover a quantity of fish with stones and logs.

A few grizzlies become cattle-killers; many grizzlies eat cattle they did not kill. On the live-stock ranges in the mountains of the West cattle die from many causes. They succumb to disease and to accidents. Winds proclaim carcass news and a feast to flesh-eaters near and far. Bears have amazingly keen noses and often are the first to enjoy the feast.

A grizzly I was following caught the scent of a carcass that was more than a mile away. He stopped and sniffed, then changed his course and set off for the carcass. The carcass was being watched. As the grizzly was the first animal to arrive after the kill, the owner of the cow concluded that he was guilty of the killing, and accordingly proceeded to kill him and to condemn all bears as cattle-killers. Yet this cow had died from feeding too freely upon poisonous larkspur.

I was once trailing a grizzly through the snow, when he came upon the trail of a mountain lion, which he followed. Farther along the lion killed a horse. When the grizzly came upon the scene, he drove the lion off. The following day, while having a second feast off the horse, he was discovered by a rancher, who at once procured dogs and pursued and killed the “famous horse-killing grizzly.”

I have not heard of an authentic instance of a grizzly’s eating human flesh. Numbers of hunters have been killed by grizzlies, but their bodies were not eaten; they were not killed for food. Many persons have lost their lives from storms, accidents, and starvation; yet their bodies have lain for days and weeks in territory frequented by grizzlies without being eaten by them. A prospector, his horse, and his burro were killed by a falling tree. Grizzlies devoured the bodies of the animals, but that of the prospector was not disturbed. Human flesh appears to be the only thing a grizzly does not eat.

The Long Winter Sleep

When the food of the grizzly bear becomes scarce, he goes to bed and sleeps until a reasonable supply is available, even though he waits five months for it. He feasts on the fullness of the land during the summer and wraps himself in a thick blanket of fat. When winter comes on, he digs a hole and crawls in. This layer of fat is a non-conductor of cold and in due time is drawn on for food.

One autumn day I visited the Hallett Glacier with a professor from the University of Chicago. After exploring one of the upper crevasses, we stood looking down the steep slope of the glacier. New snow had fallen a few days before, and a soft, slushy coating still overlaid the ice. The professor challenged me to coast down the steep, snow-lubricated ice-slope. We seated ourselves on this soft, slippery snow, and he gave the word “Go.” Just as we slid away, we saw at the bottom of the slope, where we were soon to be, a huge grizzly bear. I wish you might have seen our efforts as we tried to change our minds on that steep slope! The grizzly was busily eating grasshoppers, but he heard us coming and fled at a racing gallop, giving an excellent exhibition of his clumsy hind legs reaching out flat-footed.

Each autumn numbers of insects and sometimes bushels of grasshoppers either are blown upon the ice and snow or else approach it too closely and fall from having their wings chilled. Evidently the grizzlies long ago learned of this food-supply, for the ice-fields are regularly visited by them during the autumn. Along the timber-line the grizzly feeds freely upon the last of autumn’s berries and the last green plants. Many a grizzly goes to the heights to put on fat for his long winter’s sleep.

Bear food becomes scarce as winter approaches. Fruit, berries, grass, and weeds are out of season; most birds and insects are gone. The bear feeds on what remains—small animals which he digs out, a stray stranded fish, now and then a dead bird or animal carcass, the red fruit of the rose, and the nuts, bark, and roots of trees and plants. I do not believe the grizzly eats a special or a purgative food during the few days preceding his denning up, although he may do so.

On the few occasions when I have been able to keep track of a bear during the four or five days immediately preceding his retirement, he did not eat a single thing. I have examined a number of grizzlies that were killed while hibernating, and in every instance the stomach and intestines were empty. These facts lead me to conclude that bears rest and fast for a few days before going permanently to the winter den.

The bear generally prepares his winter quarters in advance of the time needed. He may occasionally sleep in his den before taking possession of it for the winter. But this is exceptional. In two cases that I know of he lay outside the den, though near it; and a number of other times he kept away from the den until he entered it for the long sleep. After the den is completely ready, the grizzly continues his usual search for food. Generally this requires long excursions and he may wander miles from the den.

In climbing along the bottom of a deep, narrow ravine one November day, I saw on the slope above me what appeared to be a carload or more of freshly dumped earth. My first thought was that a prospector was at work driving a tunnel; but upon examination it proved to be a recently finished but not yet occupied hibernating-den. The entrance was about three feet in diameter. Just inside the den was a trifle larger. It extended, nearly level, about twelve feet into the mountain-side. At the back it was six feet across and four feet high.

The size of the den varies and is apparently determined by the character of the soil in which it is made and also by the inclination of the bear making it. Most other dens measured were smaller than this one.

The grizzly may use the same den for several winters or have a new one each year. He may dig the den himself or take an old one that some other bear has used, or he may make use of one shaped by Nature—a cave or a rock-slide. I knew of one grizzly hibernating in a prospector’s abandoned tunnel. Sometimes, like the black bear, he will dig a den on a steep mountain-side beneath the widely spreading roots of trees; sometimes beneath a large fallen log, close to the upturned roots which support it. In crossing the mountains one February I noticed a steamy vapor rising from a hole in the snow by the protruding roots of an overturned tree. I walked to the hole to investigate. The vapor was rank with the odor of a bear. Near my home on the slope of Long’s Peak I have known grizzlies to den up beneath the snow-crushed, matted tree-growths at the timber-line, at an altitude of about eleven thousand feet.

Twice I have known bears to hibernate in enormous nests that were made of the long fibres of cedar bark. It must have taken days to construct one of these nests, as more than forty cedar trees had been more or less disrobed to supply material for it. It resembled the nests of trash that razor-back hogs in the South construct, though much larger. The bear, after piling it up, worked his way in near the bottom, somewhat after the fashion of a boy crawling into a haycock. Over this hibernating-nest the snow spread its blanket and probably afforded all the protection needed.

Sometimes the entrance to a den is partly closed by the occupant. Once in, he reaches out and claws the lower part full of earth, or rakes in trash and leaves. In most instances nothing is done to close the entrance. The snows drift back into the den, pile upward, and at last close the entrance most effectually.

All the dens that I recall were upon northerly or easterly—the cooler—slopes. The snow as it fell would be likely to remain and close or blanket the entrance all winter long. Snow evidently enters into the grizzly’s winter plans.

Late one cold, snowless December I came upon a grizzly carrying spruce boughs into his den. Evidently he had used the den and found it cold. The den had a large opening; this he may have been intending to close. The rocky floor was already piled a foot deep with boughs. I have seen two other dens with floor-coverings; one of these was of pine twigs, and the other of coarse grass and kinnikinnick. But in most cases the bear sleeps upon the uncovered rocks or the naked earth.

Snow is a factor in determining when a bear begins his winter sleep. If he is fat and food is scarce, an early, heavy snow is pretty certain to cause him to turn in early. If no snow comes and food is still to be had, the bear is likely to delay his hibernation.

The individual inclination of the bear and his condition—whether fat or thin—are also factors which influence his time of retiring. I knew of two bears, apparently of similar condition, one of whom turned in three weeks earlier than the other. Two bears whom I noticed one winter ran about more than a month after all the other bears had disappeared. Both were thin—just why I should like to know. They also turned in shortly after they became rounded out. Generally bears of a locality turn in for winter at about the same time. Hibernating may begin early in November, but in most localities, and in most years, the time is likely to be a month later.

In Alaska and the Northwest many bears hibernate in the heights above the timber-line. I have found a number in the mountains of Colorado with winter quarters at an altitude of twelve thousand feet. In southern Colorado and in the Yellowstone Park region many have denned up at about the altitude of six thousand feet. But a grizzly may hibernate anywhere in his territory where he can find or make a den to his liking.

Except when there are cubs, a grizzly dens alone. Accounts which tell of a number of full-grown grizzlies spending the winter in one den lack verification. The cubs are born in the hibernating-den, and they den up with the mother the first, and sometimes the second, winter after their birth. The cubs generally den up together the first winter after they are weaned.

Once in for the winter, the bear is likely to stay in the den for weeks. Most of the time probably is spent sleeping, and, so far as known, without either food or water. A bear may be routed out of his winter quarters without difficulty. Generally his sleep is not heavy enough greatly to deaden his senses. Hunters, trappers, floods, and snow-slides have driven grizzlies from their dens during every stage of hibernation, and in each case a moment after the bear came forth his senses were as alert as ever; he was able either to run away or to fight in his normal manner.

Prospectors in Jefferson Valley, Montana, told me of staking claims and starting to drive a tunnel early one December. A day or two after they began blasting they saw a bear break out of a snowy den and scamper away on the mountain-side. They tracked him to the place where he had holed up again. It was their belief that the noise or the jar of their shots had awakened and re-awakened the bear, until, disgusted, he left the region for a quieter sleeping-place.

A sniffling and grunting attracted my attention one midwinter day as I was snowshoeing along the side of a ravine. Presently, a short distance ahead of me, I saw a grizzly’s nose thrust out of a hole in the snowy slope. Then his head followed. Sleepily the grizzly half-opened his eyes, then closed them again. His shaking and drooping head fell lower and lower, until with a jerk he raised it only to let it droop again. He repeated this performance a number of times. Evidently it was the head of a very sleepy grizzly. Occasionally he opened his eyes for a moment, but he did not seem interested in the outside world and he finally withdrew his head and disappeared in the den.

After midwinter, and especially towards spring, a bear sometimes comes out for fresh air and exercise, or to sun himself. One gray February day, snowshoeing along the Big South Poudre, I chanced to look across an opening from the edge of the woods and saw a grizzly walking round and round in a well-beaten pathway in the snow. Occasionally he reared up, faced about, and walked round in the opposite direction. His den was near by. Half a mile farther on I came upon a bear trail near the entrance to another den. Here the bear had walked back and forth in a pathway that was about sixty feet long. It was beaten down in the snow to a depth of fifteen inches. Two places showed that the bear had rolled and wallowed about in the snow.

Elsewhere, another year, about the middle of March, I examined much-worn pathways near a grizzly’s den. These had been made at least three weeks before and had been used a number of times. One pathway led to the base of a cliff that faced the east, where the bear had probably lain in the morning sun. Another led to a much-used spot that caught the afternoon sun.

Perhaps a bear sometimes becomes tired or restless during his long winter sleep. Now and then he comes forth in spring with the fur worn off his hips, back, or shoulders. He may kill time, when through sleeping, with a short excursion outside the den. If the den is large, he sometimes tramples about like a caged animal.

Climatic conditions, the altitude at which the bear hibernated, and other factors determine the time when grizzlies leave their dens. Most of them come forth during March, but stragglers may not appear until late in April. Mothers with cubs remain in the den a few weeks longer than bears without cubs.

At the limits of tree growth, one cold March day, I came upon the tracks of a grizzly bear descending the mountain. I back-tracked them and found the den in which the grizzly had spent the winter. The inside of the den was gravelly and comparatively clean. Only this single line of tracks led from the den, though the weather had been clear for a week; so I judged this was the first time the grizzly had sauntered forth. It was just sundown when I reached the den. The heights were icy, and I hesitated about continuing across the Divide that night, so concluded to occupy the den. I knew that bears often take a short ramble in the spring and then return to the den, but I took the chances of sharing it with him. I do not know what the grizzly did that night—whether or not he came back. But my fire in the mouth of the den may have kept him at bay.

The hard, cracked skin on the soles of the grizzly’s feet is shed during hibernation, and the feet in spring are soft and tender. For several days he avoids traveling over rough places. His claws grow out during the winter rest, also. When he goes to sleep they are worn, broken, and blunt; but he comes out of winter quarters with claws long and moderately pointed.

What is the grizzly’s condition in the spring after months of fasting? He has hibernated from three to five months, and in this time probably has taken neither water nor food. First of all he comes forth fat and not in the least hungry. The walls of his stomach have greatly contracted, almost completely closing the interior. Two stomachs which I saw taken from grizzlies killed early in the spring were as hard as chunks of rubber, and had capacity for not more than two or three spoonfuls. But when the grizzly reappears after his long winter sleep he is as strong as ever and can run for hours or fight with normal effectiveness.

He may not eat anything for a few days after leaving the den. For many days he eats lightly, and it may be two weeks before he has a normal appetite. His first food is likely to be the early, tender shoots of plants or trees, tuberous roots, swelling buds, and green grass.

I once watched a grizzly for seven days after he emerged from his hibernating-cave. His winter quarters were near timber-line on Battle Mountain, at an altitude of nearly twelve thousand feet. The winter had been of average temperature, but with scanty snow-fall. I saw him, by chance, just as he left the den, on the first day of March. He walked about aimlessly for an hour or more, then returned to his sleeping-place without eating or drinking anything.

The following day he wandered about until afternoon before he broke his fast. He ate a mouthful of willow twigs and took a taste of water. He walked leisurely down the mountain and towards sundown made himself a nest at the foot of a cliff in the woods. Here he remained, apparently sleeping, until late the next afternoon. Then, just before sundown, he walked out a short distance, smelled of a number of things, licked the snow a few times, and returned to his nest.

The fourth day he went early for water and ate more willow twigs. In the afternoon he came upon a dead bird,—apparently a junco,—which he ate. After another drink he lay down at the foot of a tree for the night. The following morning he drank freely of water, surprised and devoured a rabbit, and then lay down. He slept until noon the next day, then set out foraging; he found a dead mouse and toward evening caught another rabbit. The seventh day was much like the preceding one. During the first week out the grizzly did not eat food enough to make him one ordinary meal.

Hibernation is not well understood. The habit probably originated from the scarcity of food. However, in Mexico grizzlies sometimes hibernate even though the climate be mild and food plentiful. As these grizzlies probably came from the cold north, the habit may have been fixed in the species when it arrived. Hibernation appears to be helpful and not harmful, and it may therefore continue for ages even though not required. The rest which hibernation gives to mind and stomach, with the entire organism relaxed, may both increase efficiency and lengthen life.

The polar bear has its own peculiar hibernating-habits. The food of this bear is sea food. This is available even in the winter-time, on or beneath the ice. The male polar bears do not hibernate; the females do not except when about to give birth to young. The cubs at birth are small and helpless, and require the mother’s constant care and the shelter of the den for some weeks after birth.

Mr. J. D. Figgins has written one of the best comments on hibernation that I have read. I quote as follows:—

“The period of hibernation in any mammal not only varies in a given species, but is largely influ enced by the available supply of food to which it is accustomed or that is necessary for its requirements.

“Examples of this character may be cited among several species of mammals. It is the custom of the chipmunks, or ‘ground squirrels,’ to hoard up at least a partial supply of food in the autumn for consumption during the winter months; but this is rarely, if ever, sufficient to keep these interesting little animals active for the entire period. In most localities, there is no available food with which to augment their scant store and they are never in evidence from late October to April. In other locations where the fruit of the Cratægus, or ‘thorn apple,’ is to be had, they may be seen almost daily, although the ground may be covered with several feet of snow and low temperatures prevail.

“Another example is the opossum. Ordinarily these animals are active throughout the entire year, but towards the northern edge of their range they frequently hibernate for considerable periods (thirty-one days from personal observations).

“Certain of the small rodents can, and probably do, hoard sufficient food for actual need during the winter months; but the problem is in direct ratio to the size of the animal. Hence we find the marmot, a much larger animal, making no provision, although his habitat is confined to the higher altitudes and his period of hibernation is extended over a greater length of time than many other species. His food consists wholly of grass and other green plants, and it is doubtful if he could subsist on dry food. Granting that he could, the amount required would be prohibitive, otherwise he would make some effort in that direction, as do the conies, a much smaller animal.

“Being omnivorous and of great size, a bear could not secure or preserve the necessary amount of food to carry him through five months. Such food could not consist of any variety other than vegetation, and he is not a ‘hay’ eater, and so, nature has provided him a means of surviving the long period of fasting and probably, without discomfort.

“It is well known that bears show a distinct preference for fruit during the late summer and autumn months. Not because that is the season for the various fruits, but through a need of their sugar content and its fattening qualities. Composed largely of juices which are quickly absorbed, the digestive process is very brief and the discarded residue is discharged at once. This may give rise to the belief that a purgative has been employed as a means of cleansing the bowels and explains the presence of unbroken berries in the excrement and the absence of offensive odors. As a means of exploding the purgative theory we need only refer to bears in captivity. Although the latter may be confined to cement floors and have no access to any matter whatever, other than the food regularly supplied, they frequently hibernate in a quite orderly manner.

“It must be conceded that bears are irregular in the period of ‘holing up’ and that they do so only when food has become too scarce to sustain activities without a drain upon the store of fat they have acquired; or during very severe weather. In the mean time there has been a gradual reduction in food as the period of hibernation approaches and a consequent lessened activity of the bowels. Nor is there reason for surprise because of the absence of excrement in the burrow and the presence of matter in the rectum when the bear emerges in the spring.

“In captivity bears may, or may not, hibernate. As a rule they ‘sleep’ for more or less varying periods during severe weather. One authority states the grizzly has been known to sleep from sixty to seventy-five days and during that time it was not difficult to awaken him. Black bears frequently pass the winter without evidence of even drowsiness. Others awake at irregular intervals, and after feeding lightly, return to their slumber.”

The winter life of many animals is stern and strange. During the autumn the beaver stores up a food-supply for use when the pond is closed over with ice. The cony harvests hay for his winter food. Numbers of animals hunt food each day in the snow. But the woodchuck and the bear hibernate, that is, they fast and sleep in a den during the winter.

Being Good to Bears

On the slope of Long’s Peak one June morning I came upon two tiny grizzly bear cubs. Each was about the size of a cottontail rabbit—a lively little ball of fur, dark gray, almost black, in color.

Knowing that their mother had recently been killed, I thought I would capture them and bring them up properly. But they did not want to be brought up properly! We had a lively chase, dodging among the bowlders and trees. Cornering them at last among the fallen logs, I grabbed one. He did the same to me. His teeth were as sharp as needles and almost as sharp were his lively claws. It was some time before I could tear myself loose. He kept a mouthful of my trousers. At last I deposited the fighting little fellow in the bottom of a sack. The other cub scratched and chewed me up and tore my clothes; but I forced it also into the sack. Two grizzly bears in the same sack! any one should have known better!

I started to conduct them personally to my cabin, two miles away. In descending a steep moraine with the sack over my shoulder I slipped and shook the sack more than any sack should have been shaken that contained two bears. Of course, they started to fight. One bit through the sack and bit the wrong bear. I finally reached my cabin with a long pole over my shoulder. Tied to the south end of the pole was a sack full of grizzly bears.

I shook the cubs out of the sack in front of a basin of milk and thrust their faces deeply into it. Not having eaten for three days, they were “as hungry as bears” and needed no explanation concerning the milk. They had eager, cunning little faces, and were pets before sundown. In twenty-four hours Jenny knew that her name was Jenny, and Johnny that his was Johnny. After a few days they followed me about with fondness and loyalty.

JENNY (STANDING UP) AND JOHNNY
In the First Year of their Lives

These bears responded to kind treatment and were of cheerful disposition. I made it a point never to annoy or tease them. The grizzly bear is an exceedingly sensitive animal, and annoyances or cruelty make him cross. Once in addressing an audience concerning wild life I made the statement that bears would be good to us if we were good to them. A small boy instantly asked, “"What do you do to be good to bears?” The health and the temper of bears, as well as of people, are easily ruined by improper food.

Young bear cubs are the most wide-awake and observing little people that I know of. Never have I seen a horse or dog who understood as readily or learned as rapidly as these two bears. One day I offered Johnny a saucer of milk. He was impatient to get it. Reaching up, he succeeded in spilling it, but he licked the saucer with satisfaction. On the second try he spilled only a part of the milk. On the third trial he clasped the saucer deftly in his two fore paws, lifted it upwards, turned his head back and poured the milk into his mouth.

When Johnny and Jenny were growing up, it seemed as if nothing unusual escaped them. A bright button, a flash of a ring, a white handkerchief, or an unusual movement or sound instantly caught their attention. They concentrated on each new object and endeavored to find out what it was. Having satisfied their curiosity or obtained full information about it, the next instant they were ready to concentrate on something else. But they remembered on second appearance anything which had especially interested them at any time. They learned through careful observation.

For a time they were not chained and had the freedom of the yard. Never have I seen two young animals more intense, more playful, or more energetic. They played alone, they mauled each other by the hour, and occasionally they scrapped. Sometimes we ran foot-races. From a scratch upon the ground, at the word "go," we would race down hill about one hundred and fifty yards. They were eager for these races and always ready to line up with me. They were so speedy that in every race they merrily turned around at least twice to see if I was coming, and in those days I was not slow.

Johnny and Jenny enjoyed playing with people, with any one who did not annoy them. Among the strangers who came was a man who made friends at once and had a good romp. When he left them and went to lunch, Johnny and Jenny followed and lay down near the door where he had disappeared. As he came out, they rose up and started another romp.

To attract my attention or to ask for something to eat, Johnny or Jenny would stand on hind legs and hold out fore paws like an orator. If I came around the corner of the house a quarter of a mile away, they instantly stood on tiptoe and gesticulated with enthusiasm. They were the life of my home, and occasionally almost the death of it.

It was almost impossible to get these cubs filled up. They ate everything,—scraps from the table, rhubarb, dandelions, bitter sage, and bark,—but they were especially fond of apples. If I approached with meat and honey upon a plate but with apples or turnips in my pockets, they would ignore the plate and, clinching me, thrust their noses into my pockets to find the promised treat.

One August evening I brought in a cluster of wild raspberries for Johnny and Jenny. While still more than a hundred feet from the cabin, both bears leaped to their feet, scented the air, and came racing to meet me with more than their ordinary enthusiasm. No child of frontier parents could have shown more interest in a candy package on the father’s return from the city than did Johnny and Jenny in those berries.

A number of people were waiting in my cabin to see me. The little bears and I crowded in. I handed Jenny a berry-laden spray, and then one to Johnny, alternating until they were equally divided. Standing erect, each held the cluster under the left forearm by pressing it against the chest. When browsing in a raspberry-patch bears commonly bite off the tops of the canes together with the leaves and the berries. Johnny and Jenny ate more daintily. One berry was plucked off at a time with two front claws and dropped into the mouth. As one berry followed another, the lips were smacked, and the face and every movement made expressed immense satisfaction at the taste.

Every one crowded close to watch the performance. In the jostling one of the berry-laden canes fell to the floor. Both little bears grabbed for it at the same instant. They butted heads, lost their temper, and began to fight over it. I grabbed them by the collars and shook them.

“Why, Johnny and Jenny,” I said, “why do you do this? And such awful manners when we have company! What shall I do with you?”

They instantly stopped quarreling and even forgot the berries. For several seconds the little bears were embarrassed beyond all measure. They simply stared at the floor. Then suddenly each appeared to have the same idea. Standing erect, facing each other, they put fore paws on each other’s shoulders, and went "Ungh, ah, oooo." Plainly they were very sorry that they had misbehaved.

The manner in which these cubs received the berries, the fact that the first time they saw mushrooms they scented them at some distance and raced for them, also that on other occasions they went out of their way to get a plant ordinarily liked by the grizzly, led me to think that they inherited a taste for a number of things that grizzlies commonly eat.

One day we were out walking, when we came upon an army of ants. Without the least hesitation Johnny and Jenny followed along the line, licking them up. Upon reaching the stone behind which the ants were disappearing, Johnny thrust one fore claw under it and flung it aside. I was astonished at his strength.

I tried not to teach Johnny or Jenny any trick, but encouraged them to develop any original stunt or individuality of their own. One day Jenny was attracted by a big green fly that alighted on Johnny. She struck at it; the fly relighted and she struck again. With a little effort I succeeded in getting the bears to shoo flies off each other, and sometimes they were both busy at the same time. It made a comical show, especially when one was lazily lying down and the other was shooing with eagerness and solemnity.

Another activity I encouraged was the bear’s habit of holding the other around the neck with one fore paw and rubbing or scratching the back of the bear’s head with his other paw. In a short time both bears, while facing each other, would go through the performance at the same time.

Like other children Johnny and Jenny were fond of water and spent much time rolling and wading in the brook by their shed. This was a play they enjoyed. I showed interest in having them roll and splash in the liveliest manner possible.

Johnny seemed unusually interested in what I was doing one day and imitated in succession a number of my performances. I had dropped a penny on the floor, and then, stooping over, touched it with the end of one finger and moved it rapidly about. He rose on his hind feet, held up one claw, then, stooping, put this upon the penny and moved it rapidly about. Blowing the yolk out of an egg, I held up the empty shell before him, and then proceeded to move it rapidly about on the floor with the point of one finger. After licking the shell Johnny imitated my every act without crushing the shell.

While Jenny was asleep on the grass, I placed a large umbrella over her. When she opened her eyes, she at once commenced a quiet though frightened study of the strange thing. She closed one eye, turned her head to one side, and looked up into it; then, turning her head, closed the other eye for a look. A sudden puff of wind gave life to the umbrella and this in turn to Jenny. She made a desperate dash to escape the mysterious monster. The wind whirled the umbrella before her and she landed in it. Wrecking the umbrella, she fled in terror, bellowing with every jump. It took more than an hour to explain matters and assure Jenny that I had not been playing any tricks.

Scotch, my short-nosed collie, was with me when Johnny and Jenny were growing up. Johnny and Scotch were fond of each other, and though each was a little jealous of the master’s attention to the other, they got along admirably. Ofttimes they wrestled, and sometimes in their rough and tumble they played pretty roughly. As a climax often Scotch would aim for a neck-hold on Johnny and hammer him on the tip of his sensitive nose with one fore paw, while Johnny if possible would seize Scotch’s tail in his mouth and shut down on it with his needle-like teeth.

One of the most interesting pranks which they played on each other was over a bone. Scotch was enjoying this, when he discovered Johnny watching him eagerly. Plainly Johnny wanted that bone. After a little while Scotch leaped to his feet, looked off in the direction beyond Johnny and barked, as though some object of interest was coming from that direction. Then, picking up the bone, he walked away. As he passed in front of Johnny he dropped the bone and gave a bark. Going on a short distance, he barked once or twice more and lay down watching this pretended object in the distance. Johnny was more interested in the bone, but Scotch had dropped this a foot or two beyond his reach, chained as he was. For some time Johnny stood with his nose pointing at the bone, apparently thinking deeply as to how he might reach it. At last, stretching his chain to the utmost he reached out with his right arm. But he could not touch it. Although realizing that he probably could not reach it with the left arm, nevertheless he tried.

All this time Scotch was watching Johnny out of the corner of his eye and plainly enjoyed his failures. Johnny stood looking at the bone; Scotch continued looking at Johnny. Suddenly Johnny had an idea. He wheeled about, reached back with his hind foot and knocked the bone forward where he could pick it up with fore paws. Scotch, astonished, leaped to his feet and walked off without a bark or once looking back.

When Johnny and Jenny were small they often reminded me of a little boy and a little girl. Ofttimes they would follow me into my cabin. If I sat down they would come close, stand on hind legs, put fore paws on my knees, and look up at me. They would play with my watch-string, peep into my pockets, notice my pencil, or look at the buttons on my coat. Sometimes they would make a round of the room, scrutinize an unusual knot in a log, or stop to look for several seconds at the books in the shelves or the last magazine-cover. Then again, like children, they would walk round the room, tap with their fore paws here and there, and hurry on as children do. More than once they climbed up into my lap, twitched my ears, touched my nose, played with my hair, and finally fell off to sleep, one on each arm.

One day, while I was carrying Johnny in my arms, it occurred to me that he would enjoy a big rocking-chair. I placed him in a chair with one fore paw on each arm. He sat up like a little old man. As I started the chair rocking, he showed his suspicion and alarm by excitedly peering over, first at one rocker and then the other. Presently he calmed down and seemed to enjoy the movement. By and by he caught the swing and rocked himself. Suddenly the little old man and the rocker went over backward. Seeing his angry look as he struck the floor, I leaped upon the centre table. Getting on his feet, he struck a blow that barely missed me and then made lively bites at my ankles. He blamed me for the law of falling bodies. After a few seconds he was as playful as ever, remembering that I had never played any tricks on him, and realizing that I was not to blame for what had happened.

These little bears grew rapidly. At the age of seven months Johnny weighed approximately sixty pounds, and Jenny forty-six.

Numerous visitors and the increasing size of the cubs at last compelled me to chain them. The little bears were almost always on the move, either pacing back and forth or circling. Their long chains often got tangled with sticks, grass, or bushes. Sometimes the cubs showed impatience, but usually they carefully examined the chain, then, taking it in their fore paws, stepped this way and that and generally made the very move needed to extricate or unwind it. While doing this they appeared almost comical because of their serious and concentrated attention.

One morning Johnny climbed to the top of the pole fence to which he was chained. With happy, playful activity he galloped atop the pole to the end of the chain; then, like an engine, he reversed his direction without turning and went hippety-hop back again. This was a favorite exercise of Johnny’s, a game which I had encouraged; but this morning while having a beautiful time he tumbled off backward. The chain caught in a knot and Johnny found himself hung. Grizzly bears resent being hung by the neck. Johnny quickly kicked himself out of his collar. Finding himself free, and thinking himself abused, I suppose, he ran away. After three days this runaway boy concluded to come home. I saw him come out of the woods into an opening on the mountain-side. Even at a distance I could see that he no longer possessed the big round stomach that he took away. I went to meet him. He was interested in the food question, and long before he reached me he was dancing about with outstretched arms.

In the midst of this performance it occurred to him that if he wanted anything to eat he must hurry to me. So he checked his first impulse and started to carry his second into instant effect. These incomplete proceedings interrupted and tripped each other three or four times and mixed themselves together. Apparently an entangled mental process followed my appearance. Though he tumbled about in comic confusion while trying to do two things at once, it was evident through it all that his central idea was to get something to eat.

One September we went camping out in Wild Basin, Johnny and Jenny racing along as happy as two boys. Sometimes they were ahead of me, sometimes behind; occasionally they stopped to wrestle and box. At night they lay close to me beside the camp-fire. Often I used one of them for a pillow, and more than once I awoke to find that they were using me for one.

JENNY (ON THE LEFT) AND JOHNNY
At the Age of Fourteen

As we were climbing along the top of a moraine, a black bear and her two cubs came within perhaps thirty feet of us. They saw or scented us. The cubs and their mother bristled up and ran off terribly frightened, while Johnny and Jenny only a short distance in front of me, walked on, both ludicrously pretending that they had not seen the black bears. Surely they were touched with aristocracy!

The man in charge of my place neither understood nor sympathized with wide-awake and aggressive young grizzlies, and once, when I was away, he teased Johnny. The inevitable crash came and the man went to the hospital. On another occasion he set a pan of sour milk on the ground before Jenny. Bears learn to like sour milk, but Jenny had not learned and she sourly sniffed at it. The man roared, "Drink it," and kicked her in the ribs. Again we had to send for the ambulance.

At last it appeared best to send Johnny and Jenny to the Denver Zoo. Two years went by before I allowed myself the pleasure of visiting them. A number of other bears were with them in a large pen when I leaped in, calling “Hello, Johnny!” as I did so. Johnny jumped up fully awake, stood erect, extended both arms, and gave a few joyful grunts in the way of greeting. Back among the other bears stood Jenny on tiptoe, eagerly looking on.