he saw afar the old Pinto Bear with her two little brown cubs. She was
crossing from one side where the wall was low to another part easy to
climb. As she stopped to drink at the clear stream Lan fired with his
rifle. At the shot Pinto turned on her cubs, and slapping first one,
then the other, she chased them up a tree. Now a second shot struck
her and she charged fiercely up the sloping part of the wall, clearly
recognizing the whole situation and determined to destroy that hunter.
She came snorting up the steep acclivity wounded and raging, only to
receive a final shot in the brain that sent her rolling back to lie
dead at the bottom of Pocket Gulch. The hunter, after waiting to make
sure, moved to the edge and fired another shot into the old one's
body; then reloading, he went cautiously down to the tree where still
were the cubs. They gazed at him with wild seriousness as he
approached them, and when he began to climb they scrambled up higher.
Here one set up a plaintive whining and the other an angry growling,
their outcries increasing as he came nearer.

He took out a stout cord, and noosing them in turn, dragged them to
the ground. One rushed at him and, though little bigger than a cat,
would certainly have done him serious injury had he not held it off
with a forked stick.

After tying them to a strong but swaying branch he went to his horse,
got a grain-bag, dropped them into that, and rode with them to his
shanty. He fastened each with a collar and chain to a post, up which
they climbed, and sitting on the top they whined and growled,
according to their humor. For the first few days there was danger of
the cubs strangling themselves or of starving to death, but at length
they were beguiled into drinking some milk most ungently procured from
a range cow that was lassoed for the purpose. In another week they