sordid of the human race were the folk about the ranch hotel. To see
them in this setting might well raise doubt that any "rise from Nature
up to Nature's God." No city slum has ever shown a more ignoble crew,
and Jack, if his mind were capable of such things, must have graded
the two-legged ones lower in proportion as he knew them better.

Cruelty was his lot, and hate was his response. Almost the only
amusing trick he now did was helping himself to a drink of beer. He
was very fond of beer, and the loafers about the tavern often gave him
a bottle to see how dexterously he would twist off the wire and work
out the cork. As soon as it popped, he would turn it up between his
paws and drink to the last drop.

The monotony of his life was occasionally varied with a dog fight. His
tormentors would bring their Bear dogs "to try them on the cub." It
seemed to be very pleasant sport to men and dogs, till Jack learned
how to receive them. At first he used to rush furiously at the nearest
tormentor until brought up with a jerk at the end of his chain and
completely exposed to attack behind from another dog. A month or two
entirely changed his method. He learned to sit against the hogshead
and quietly watch the noisy dogs around him, with much show of
inattention, making no move, no matter how near they were, until they
"bunched," that is, gathered in one place. Then he charged. It was
inevitable that the hind dogs would be the last to jump, and so
hindered the front ones; thus Jack would "get" one or more of them,
and the game became unpopular.

When about eighteen months old, and half grown, an incident took place
which defied all explanation. Jack had won the name of being
dangerous, for he had crippled one man with a blow and nearly killed a