<h2>PART III<br/> THE WANING</h2>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/page119.png" width-obs="40" height-obs="120" alt="" title="" /></div>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i119.png" width-obs="170" height-obs="132" alt="" title="" /></div>
<h3><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</SPAN></span>I</h3>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i121.png" width-obs="120" height-obs="190" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p><ANTIMG class="initial" src="images/initial_y.png" alt="" title="" /><span class="smcap">ears</span> went by.
Wahb grew no bigger,—there
was no
need for that,—but
he got whiter, crosser,
and more dangerous. He really had
an enormous range now. Each
spring, after the winter storms
had removed his notice-boards, he
went around and renewed them.
It was natural to do so, for, first of
all, the scarcity of food compelled
him to travel all over the range.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</SPAN></span>
There were lots of clay wallows at
that season, and the itching of his
skin, as the winter coat began to
shed, made the dressing of cool,
wet clay very pleasant, and the
exquisite pain of a good scratching
was one of the finest pleasures
he knew. So, whatever his motive,
the result was the same: the signs
were renewed each spring.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i122.png" width-obs="160" height-obs="88" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>At length the Palette Ranch outfit
appeared on the Lower Piney,
and the men got acquainted with
the "ugly old fellow." The Cow-punchers,
when they saw him, decided
they "hadn't lost any Bears
and they had better keep out of his
way and let him mind his business."</p>
<p>They did not often see him, although
his tracks and sign-boards
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</SPAN></span>
were everywhere. But the owner
of this outfit, a born hunter, took a
keen interest in Wahb. He learned
something of the old Bear's history
from Colonel Pickett, and
found out for himself more than
the colonel ever knew.</p>
<p>He learned that Wahb ranged
as far south as the Upper Wiggins
Fork and north to the Stinking
Water, and from the Meteetsee to
the Shoshones.</p>
<p>He found that Wahb knew more
about Bear-traps than most trappers
do; that he either passed them
by or tore open the other end of the
bait-pen and dragged out the bait
without going near the trap, and
by accident or design Wahb sometimes
sprang the trap with one of
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</SPAN></span>
the logs that formed the pen. This
ranch-owner found also that Wahb
disappeared from his range each
year during the heat of the summer,
as completely as he did each winter
during his sleep.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i124.png" width-obs="300" height-obs="208" alt="" title="" /></div>
<hr />
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/page125.png" width-obs="40" height-obs="120" alt="" title="" /></div>
<h3><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</SPAN></span>II</h3>
<p><ANTIMG class="initial" src="images/initial_m.png" alt="" title="" /><span class="smcap">any</span> years ago a
wise government set
aside the head waters
of the Yellowstone
to be a sanctuary
of wildlife forever. In the
limits of this great Wonderland the
ideal of the Royal Singer was to be
realized, and none were to harm or
make afraid. No violence was to
be offered to any bird or beast, no
ax was to be carried into its primitive
forests, and the streams were
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</SPAN></span>
to flow on forever unpolluted by
mill or mine. All things were to
bear witness that such as this was
the West before the white man
came.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i126_1.png" width-obs="80" height-obs="135" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>The wild animals quickly found
out all this. They soon learned
the boundaries of this unfenced
Park, and, as every one knows,
they show a different nature within
its sacred limits. They no longer
shun the face of man, they neither
fear nor attack him, and they are
even more tolerant of one another
in this land of refuge.</p>
<p>Peace and plenty are the sum of
earthly good; so, finding them
here, the wild creatures crowd
into the Park from the surrounding
country in numbers not elsewhere
to be seen.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i126_2.png" width-obs="100" height-obs="73" alt="" title="" /> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i126_2.png" width-obs="100" height-obs="73" alt="" title="" /></div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i127.png" width-obs="100" height-obs="292" alt="" title="" /></div>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i126_3.png" width-obs="100" height-obs="73" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</SPAN></span>
The Bears are especially numerous
about the Fountain Hotel.
In the woods, a quarter of a
mile away, is a smooth open place
where the steward of the hotel has
all the broken and waste food put
out daily for the Bears, and the man
whose work it is has become the
Steward of the Bears' Banquet.
Each day it is spread, and each
year there are more Bears to partake
of it. It is a common thing
now to see a dozen Bears feasting
there at one time. They are
of all kinds—Black, Brown, Cinnamon,
Grizzly, Silvertip, Roachbacks,
big and small, families and
rangers, from all parts of the vast
surrounding country. All seem to
realize that in the Park no violence
is allowed, and the most ferocious
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</SPAN></span>
of them have here put on
a new behavior. Although scores
of Bears roam about this choice resort,
and sometimes quarrel among
themselves, not one of them has
ever yet harmed a man.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i128.png" width-obs="160" height-obs="84" alt="" title="" /></div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i129.png" width-obs="100" height-obs="495" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>Year after year they have come
and gone. The passing travellers
see them. The men of the hotel
know many of them well. They
know that they show up each summer
during the short season when
the hotel is in use, and that they
disappear again, no man knowing
whence they come or whither they
go.</p>
<p>One day the owner of the Palette
Ranch came through the Park.
During his stay at the Fountain
Hotel, he went to the Bear Banquet
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</SPAN></span>
Hall at high meal-tide. There
were several Blackbears feasting,
but they made way for a huge
Silvertip Grizzly that came about
sundown.</p>
<p>"That," said the man who was
acting as guide, "is the biggest
Grizzly in the Park; but he is a
peaceable sort, or Lud knows
what'd happen."</p>
<p>"That!" said the ranchman, in
astonishment, as the Grizzly came
hulking nearer, and loomed up like
a load of hay among the piney
pillars of the Banquet Hall. "That!
If that is not Meteetsee Wahb, I
never saw a Bear in my life! Why,
that is the worst Grizzly that ever
rolled a log in the Big Horn
Basin."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</SPAN></span>
"It ain't possible," said the
other, "for he's here every summer,
July and August, an' I reckon
he don't live so far away."</p>
<p>"Well, that settles it," said the
ranchman; "July and August is
just the time we miss him on the
range; and you can see for yourself
that he is a little lame behind and
has lost a claw of his left front foot.
Now I know where he puts in
his summers; but I did not suppose
that the old reprobate would
know enough to behave himself
away from home."</p>
<p>The big Grizzly became very
well known during the successive
hotel seasons. Once only did he
really behave ill, and that was the
first season he appeared, before
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</SPAN></span>
he fully knew the ways of the
Park.</p>
<p>He wandered over to the hotel,
one day, and in at the front door.
In the hall he reared up his eight
feet of stature as the guests fled in
terror; then he went into the clerk's
office. The man said: "All right;
if you need this office more than I
do, you can have it," and leaping
over the counter, locked himself in
the telegraph-office to wire the
superintendent of the Park: "Old
Grizzly in the office now, seems
to want to run hotel; may we
shoot?"</p>
<p>The reply came: "No shooting
allowed in Park; use the hose."
Which they did, and, wholly taken
by surprise, the Bear leaped over
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</SPAN></span>
the counter too, and ambled out
the back way, with a heavy <i>thud-thudding</i>
of his feet, and a rattling
of his claws on the floor. He
passed through the kitchen as he
went, and, picking up a quarter of
beef, took it along.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i130.png" width-obs="400" height-obs="239" alt="" title="" /></div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i133.png" width-obs="80" height-obs="269" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>This was the only time he was
known to do ill, though on one occasion
he was led into a breach
of the peace by another Bear.
This was a large she-Blackbear
and a noted mischief-maker. She
had a wretched, sickly cub that
she was very proud of—so proud
that she went out of her way to
seek trouble on his behalf. And
he, like all spoiled children, was
the cause of much bad feeling.
She was so big and fierce that she
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</SPAN></span>
could bully all the other Blackbears,
but when she tried to drive
off old Wahb she received a pat
from his paw that sent her tumbling
like a football. He followed her
up, and would have killed her, for
she had broken the peace of the
Park, but she escaped by climbing
a tree, from the top of which her
miserable little cub was apprehensively
squealing at the pitch of his
voice. So the affair was ended; in
future the Blackbear kept out of
Wahb's way, and he won the reputation
of being a peaceable, well-behaved
Bear. Most persons believed
that he came from some
remote mountains where were
neither guns nor traps to make
him sullen and revengeful.</p>
<hr />
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/page134.png" width-obs="40" height-obs="120" alt="" title="" /></div>
<h3><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</SPAN></span>III</h3>
<p><ANTIMG class="initial" src="images/initial_e.png" alt="" title="" /><span class="smcap">very</span> one knows
that a Bitter-root
Grizzly is a bad
Bear. The Bitter-root
Range is the
roughest part of the mountains.
The ground is everywhere cut up
with deep ravines and overgrown
with dense and tangled underbrush.</p>
<p>It is an impossible country for
horses, and difficult for gunners,
and there is any amount of good
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</SPAN></span>
Bear-pasture. So there are plenty
of Bears and plenty of trappers.</p>
<p>The Roachbacks, as the Bitter-root
Grizzlies are called, are a
cunning and desperate race. An
old Roachback knows more about
traps than half a dozen ordinary
trappers; he knows more about
plants and roots than a whole college
of botanists. He can tell to a
certainty just when and where to
find each kind of grub and worm,
and he knows by a whiff whether
the hunter on his trail a mile away
is working with guns, poison, dogs,
traps, or all of them together. And
he has one general rule, which is
an endless puzzle to the hunter:
"Whatever you decide to do, do it
quickly and follow it right up." So
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</SPAN></span>
when a trapper and a Roachback
meet, the Bear at once makes up
his mind to run away as hard as he
can, or to rush at the man and
fight to a finish.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i135.png" width-obs="300" height-obs="172" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>The Grizzlies of the Bad Lands
did not do this: they used to stand
on their dignity and growl like a
thunder-storm, and so gave the
hunters a chance to play their
deadly lightning; and lightning is
worse than thunder any day. Men
can get used to growls that rumble
along the ground and up one's legs
to the little house where one's
courage lives; but Bears cannot
get used to 45–90 soft-nosed bullets,
and that is why the Grizzlies
of the Bad Lands were all killed
off.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i137.png" width-obs="160" height-obs="287" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</SPAN></span>
So the hunters have learned
that they never know what a
Roachback will do; but they do
know that he is going to be quick
about it.</p>
<p>Altogether these Bitter-root
Grizzlies have solved very well
the problem of life, in spite of
white men, and are therefore increasing
in their own wild mountains.</p>
<p>Of course a range will hold only
so many Bears, and the increase
is crowded out; so that when that
slim young Bald-faced Roachback
found he could not hold the range
he wanted, he went out perforce to
seek his fortune in the world.</p>
<p>He was not a big Bear, or he
would not have been crowded out;
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</SPAN></span>
but he had been trained in a good
school, so that he was cunning
enough to get on very well elsewhere.
How he wandered down
to the Salmon River Mountains
and did not like them; how he
traveled till he got among the barbwire
fences of the Snake Plains
and of course could not stay there;
how a mere chance turned him
from going eastward to the Park,
where he might have rested; how
he made for the Snake River
Mountains and found more hunters
than berries; how he crossed into
the Tetons and looked down with
disgust on the teeming man colony
of Jackson's Hole, does not belong
to this history of Wahb. But when
Baldy Roachback crossed the Gros
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</SPAN></span>
Ventre Range and over the Wind
River Divide to the head of the
Graybull, he does come into the
story, just as he did into the country
and the life of the Meteetsee
Grizzly.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i140.png" width-obs="120" height-obs="161" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>The Roachback had not found
a man-sign since he left Jackson's
Hole, and here he was in a land of
plenty of food. He feasted on all
the delicacies of the season, and
enjoyed the easy, brushless country
till he came on one of Wahb's
sign-posts.</p>
<p>"Trespassers beware!" it said
in the plainest manner. The
Roachback reared up against it.</p>
<p>"Thunder! what a Bear!" The
nose-mark was a head and neck
above Baldy's highest reach. Now,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</SPAN></span>
a simple Bear would have gone
quietly away after this discovery;
but Baldy felt that the mountains
owed him a living, and here was a
good one if he could keep out of
the way of the big fellow. He
nosed about the place, kept a sharp
lookout for the present owner, and
went on feeding wherever he ran
across a good thing.</p>
<p>A step or two from this ominous
tree was an old pine stump. In the
Bitter-roots there are often mice-nests
under such stumps, and
Baldy jerked it over to see. There
was nothing. The stump rolled
over against the sign-post. Baldy
had not yet made up his mind
about it; but a new notion came
into his cunning brain. He turned
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</SPAN></span>
his head on this side, then on that.
He looked at the stump, then at
the sign, with his little pig-like
eyes. Then he deliberately stood
up on the pine root, with his back
to the tree, and put his mark away
up, a head at least above that of
Wahb. He rubbed his back long
and hard, and he sought some
mud to smear his head and shoulders,
then came back and made the
mark so big, so strong, and so
high, and emphasized it with such
claw-gashes in the bark, that it
could be read only in one way—a
challenge to the present claimant
from some monstrous invader, who
was ready, nay anxious, to fight to
a finish for this desirable range.</p>
<div>
<SPAN name="image10" id="image10"></SPAN></div>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image010.jpg" width-obs="432" height-obs="600" alt="" title="" /> <p class="caption center">"HE DELIBERATELY STOOD UP ON THE PINE ROOT."</p> </div>
<p>Maybe it was accident and maybe
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</SPAN></span>
design, but when the Roachback
jumped from the root it rolled
to one side. Baldy went on down
the cañon, keeping the keenest
lookout for his enemy.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i145.png" width-obs="100" height-obs="253" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>It was not long before Wahb
found the trail of the interloper,
and all the ferocity of his outside-the-Park
nature was aroused.</p>
<p>He followed the trail for miles
on more than one occasion. But
the small Bear was quick-footed as
well as quick-witted, and never
showed himself. He made a point,
however, of calling at each sign-post,
and if there was any means
of cheating, so that his mark might
be put higher, he did it with a vim,
and left a big, showy record. But
if there was no chance for any but
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</SPAN></span>
a fair register, he would not go
near the tree, but looked for a fresh
tree near by with some log or side-ledge
to reach from.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i146.png" width-obs="80" height-obs="196" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>Thus Wahb soon found the interloper's
marks towering far above
his own—a monstrous Bear evidently,
that even he could not be
sure of mastering. But Wahb was
no coward. He was ready to fight
to a finish anyone that might
come; and he hunted the range for
that invader. Day after day Wahb
sought for him and held himself
ready to fight. He found his trail
daily, and more and more often he
found that towering record far
above his own. He often smelled
him on the wind; but he never saw
him, for the old Grizzly's eyes had
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</SPAN></span>
grown very dim of late years;
things but a little way off were
mere blurs to him. The continual
menace could not but fill Wahb
with uneasiness, for he was not
young now, and his teeth and claws
were worn and blunted. He was
more than ever troubled with pains
in his old wounds, and though he
could have risen on the spur of the
moment to fight any number of
Grizzlies of any size, still the continual
apprehension, the knowledge
that he must hold himself ready at
any moment to fight this young
monster, weighed on his spirits and
began to tell on his general health.</p>
<hr />
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/page147.png" width-obs="40" height-obs="120" alt="" title="" /></div>
<h3><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</SPAN></span>IV</h3>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i094.png" width-obs="80" height-obs="415" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p><ANTIMG class="initial" src="images/initial_t.png" alt="" title="" /><span class="smcap">he</span> Roachback's life
was one of continual
vigilance, always
ready to run, doubling
and shifting to
avoid the encounter that must mean
instant death to him. Many a time
from some hiding-place he watched
the great Bear, and trembled lest
the wind should betray him. Several
times his very impudence
saved him, and more than once he
was nearly cornered in a box-cañon.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</SPAN></span>
Once he escaped only by
climbing up a long crack in a cliff,
which Wahb's huge frame could
not have entered. But still, in a
mad persistence, he kept on marking
the trees farther into the range.</p>
<p>At last he scented and followed
up the sulphur-bath. He did not
understand it at all. It had no appeal
to him, but hereabouts were
the tracks of the owner. In a
spirit of mischief the Roachback
scratched dirt into the spring, and
then seeing the rubbing-tree, he
stood sidewise on the rocky ledge,
and was thus able to put his mark
fully five feet above that of Wahb.
Then he nervously jumped down,
and was running about, defiling the
bath and keeping a sharp lookout,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</SPAN></span>
when he heard a noise in the
woods below. Instantly he was all
alert. The sound drew near, then
the wind brought the sure proof,
and the Roachback, in terror,
turned and fled into the woods.</p>
<div>
<SPAN name="image11" id="image11"></SPAN></div>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image011.jpg" width-obs="440" height-obs="600" alt="" title="" /> <p class="caption center">"THE ROACHBACK FLED INTO THE WOODS."</p> </div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i151.png" width-obs="80" height-obs="193" alt="" title="" /></div>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i152.png" width-obs="80" height-obs="125" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>It was Wahb. He had been
failing in health of late; his old
pains were on him again, and, as
well as his hind leg, had seized his
right shoulder, where were still
lodged two rifle-balls. He was
feeling very ill, and crippled with
pain. He came up the familiar
bank at a jerky limp, and there
caught the odor of the foe; then
he saw the track in the mud—his
eyes said the track of a <i>small</i> Bear,
but his eyes were dim now, and
his nose, his unerring nose, said,
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</SPAN></span>
"This is the track of the huge invader."
Then he noticed the tree
with his sign on it, and there beyond
doubt was the stranger's mark
far above his own. His eyes and
nose were agreed on this; and
more, they told him that the foe
was close at hand, might at any
moment come.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i153.png" width-obs="80" height-obs="354" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>Wahb was feeling ill and weak
with pain. He was in no mood for
a desperate fight. A battle against
such odds would be madness now.
So, without taking the treatment,
he turned and swung along the
bench away from the direction
taken by the stranger—the first
time since his cubhood that he
had declined to fight.</p>
<p>That was a turning-point in
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</SPAN></span>
Wahb's life. If he had followed
up the stranger he would have
found the miserable little craven
trembling, cowering, in an agony
of terror, behind a log in a natural
trap, a walled-in glade only fifty
yards away, and would surely have
crushed him. Had he even taken
the bath, his strength and courage
would have been renewed, and if
not, then at least in time he would
have met his foe, and his after life
would have been different. But he
had turned. This was the fork in
the trail, but he had no means of
knowing it.</p>
<p>He limped along, skirting the
lower spurs of the Shoshones, and
soon came on that horrid smell
that he had known for years, but
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</SPAN></span>
never followed up or understood.
It was right in his road, and he
traced it to a small, barren ravine
that was strewn over with skeletons
and dark objects, and Wahb,
as he passed, smelled a smell of
many different animals, and knew
by its quality that they were lying
dead in this treeless, grassless hollow.
For there was a cleft in the
rocks at the upper end, whence
poured a deadly gas; invisible but
heavy, it filled the little gulch like
a brimming poison bowl, and at the
lower end there was a steady overflow.
But Wahb knew only that
the air that poured from it as he
passed made him dizzy and sleepy,
and repelled him, so that he got
quickly away from it and was glad
once more to breathe the piny wind.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</SPAN></span>
Once Wahb decided to retreat,
it was all too easy to do so next
time; and the result worked double
disaster. For, since the big stranger
was allowed possession of the sulphur-spring,
Wahb felt that he
would rather not go there. Sometimes
when he came across the
traces of his foe, a spurt of his old
courage would come back. He
would rumble that thunder-growl
as of old, and go painfully lumbering
along the trail to settle the thing
right then and there. But he never
overtook the mysterious giant, and
his rheumatism, growing worse
now that he was barred from the
cure, soon made him daily less
capable of either running or fighting.</p>
<p>Sometimes Wahb would sense
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</SPAN></span>
his foe's approach when he was
in a bad place for fighting, and,
without really running, he would
yield to a wish to be on a better
footing, where he would have a
fair chance. This better footing
never led him nearer the enemy,
for it is well known that the one
awaiting has the advantage.</p>
<p>Some days Wahb felt so ill that
it would have been madness to have
staked everything on a fight, and
when he felt well or a little better,
the stranger seemed to keep away.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i156.png" width-obs="300" height-obs="78" alt="" title="" /></div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i157.png" width-obs="160" height-obs="280" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>Wahb soon found that the stranger's
track was most often on the
Warhouse and the west slope of
the Piney, the very best feeding-grounds.
To avoid these when he
did not feel equal to fighting was
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</SPAN></span>
only natural, and as he was always
in more or less pain now, it amounted
to abandoning to the stranger
the best part of the range.</p>
<p>Weeks went by. Wahb had
meant to go back to his bath, but
he never did. His pains grew
worse; he was now crippled in his
right shoulder as well as in his
hind leg.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i159.png" width-obs="160" height-obs="249" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>The long strain of waiting for
the fight begot anxiety, that grew
to be apprehension, which, with
the sapping of his strength, was
breaking down his courage, as it
always must when courage is
founded on muscular force. His
daily care now was not to meet and
fight the invader, but to avoid him
till he felt better.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</SPAN></span>
Thus that first little retreat grew
into one long retreat. Wahb had
to go farther and farther down the
Piney to avoid an encounter. He
was daily worse fed, and as the
weeks went by was daily less able
to crush a foe.</p>
<p>He was living and hiding at last
on the Lower Piney—the very
place where once his Mother had
brought him with his little brothers.
The life he led now was much like
the one he had led after that dark
day. Perhaps for the same reason.
If he had had a family of his own
all might have been different. As
he limped along one morning, seeking
among the barren aspen groves
for a few roots, or the wormy
partridge-berries that were too poor
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</SPAN></span>
to interest the Squirrel and the
Grouse, he heard a stone rattle
down the western slope into the
woods, and, a little later, on the
wind was borne the dreaded taint.
He waded through the ice-cold
Piney,—once he would have leaped
it,—and the chill water sent through
and up each great hairy limb keen
pains that seemed to reach his very
life. He was retreating again—which
way? There seemed but
one way now—toward the new
ranch-house.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i160.png" width-obs="120" height-obs="213" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>But there were signs of stir
about it long before he was near
enough to be seen. His nose, his
trustiest friend, said, "Turn, turn
and seek the hills," and turn he did
even at the risk of meeting there
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</SPAN></span>
the dreadful foe. He limped painfully
along the north bank of the
Piney, keeping in the hollows and
among the trees. He tried to climb
a cliff that of old he had often
bounded up at full speed. When
half-way up his footing gave way,
and down he rolled to the bottom.
A long way round was now the only
road, for onward he must go—on—on.
But where? There seemed
no choice now but to abandon the
whole range to the terrible stranger.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i162.png" width-obs="120" height-obs="161" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>And feeling, as far as a Bear can
feel, that he is fallen, defeated, dethroned
at last, that he is driven
from his ancient range by a Bear
too strong for him to face, he turned
up the west fork, and the lot was
drawn. The strength and speed
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</SPAN></span>
were gone from his once mighty
limbs; he took three times as long
as he once would to mount each
well-known ridge, and as he went
he glanced backward from time to
time to know if he were pursued.
Away up the head of the little
branch were the Shoshones, bleak,
forbidding; no enemies were there,
and the Park was beyond it all—on,
on he must go. But as he
climbed with shaky limbs, and
short uncertain steps, the west wind
brought the odor of Death Gulch,
that fearful little valley where everything
was dead, where the very air
was deadly. It used to disgust him
and drive him away, but now Wahb
felt that it had a message for him;
he was drawn by it. It was in his
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</SPAN></span>
line of flight, and he hobbled slowly
toward the place. He went nearer,
nearer, until he stood upon the
entering ledge. A Vulture that had
descended to feed on one of the
victims was slowly going to sleep
on the untouched carcass. Wahb
swung his great grizzled muzzle
and his long white beard in the
wind. The odor that he once had
hated was attractive now. There
was a strange biting quality in the
air. His body craved it. For it
seemed to numb his pain and it
promised sleep, as it did that day
when first he saw the place.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i161.png" width-obs="240" height-obs="393" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p>Far below him, to the right and
to the left and on and on as far as
the eye could reach, was the great
kingdom that once had been his:
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</SPAN></span>
where he had lived for years in the
glory of his strength; where none
had dared to meet him face to face.
The whole earth could show no
view more beautiful. But Wahb
had no thought of its beauty; he
only knew that it was a good land
to live in; that it had been his, but
that now it was gone, for his
strength was gone, and he was flying
to seek a place where he could
rest and be at peace.</p>
<p>Away over the Shoshones, indeed,
was the road to the Park,
but it was far, far away, with a
doubtful end to the long, doubtful
journey. But why so far? Here in
this little gulch was all he sought;
here were peace and painless sleep.
He knew it; for his nose, his
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</SPAN></span>
never-erring nose, said, "<i>Here!
here now!</i>"</p>
<p>He paused a moment at the gate,
and as he stood the wind-borne
fumes began their subtle work.
Five were the faithful wardens of
his life, and the best and trustiest
of them all flung open wide the
door he long had kept. A moment
still Wahb stood in doubt. His
lifelong guide was silent now, had
given up his post. But another
sense he felt within. The Angel of
the Wild Things was standing
there, beckoning, in the little vale.
Wahb did not understand. He had
no eyes to see the tear in the
Angel's eyes, nor the pitying smile
that was surely on his lips. He
could not even see the Angel. But
he <i>felt</i> him beckoning, beckoning.</p>
<div>
<SPAN name="image12" id="image12"></SPAN></div>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image012.jpg" width-obs="499" height-obs="600" alt="" title="" /> <p class="caption center">"HE PAUSED A MOMENT AT THE GATE."</p> </div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</SPAN></span>
A rush of his ancient courage
surged in the Grizzly's rugged
breast. He turned aside into the
little gulch. The deadly vapors
entered in, filled his huge chest
and tingled in his vast, heroic
limbs as he calmly lay down on the
rocky, herbless floor and as gently
went to sleep, as he did that day in
his Mother's arms by the Graybull,
long ago.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG class="plain" src="images/i167.png" width-obs="600" height-obs="185" alt="" title="" /></div>
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