den, which was under an impenetrable mat of bull-berries and dwarf
box-alders, hemmed by a cut bank on one side and a wall of gnarled
cottonwoods on the other. Round this den, and rendering it noisome, were
scattered the bones of several deer and a young steer or heifer. When
we found it we thought we could easily kill the bear, but the fierce,
cunning beast must have seen or smelt us, for though we laid in wait for
it long and patiently, it did not come back to its place; nor, on our
subsequent visits, did we ever find traces of its having done so.

Bear are fond of wallowing in the water, whether in the sand, on the
edge of a rapid plains river, on the muddy margin of a pond, or in the
oozy moss of a clear, cold mountain spring. One hot August afternoon,
as I was clambering down a steep mountain-side near Pend'Oreille lake,
I heard a crash some distance below, which showed that a large beast was
afoot. On making my way towards the spot, I found I had disturbed a big
bear as it was lolling at ease in its bath; the discolored water showed
where it had scrambled hastily out and galloped off as I approached. The
spring welled out at the base of a high granite rock, forming a small
pool of shimmering broken crystal. The soaked moss lay in a deep wet
cushion round about, and jutted over the edges of the pool like a
floating shelf. Graceful, water-loving ferns swayed to and fro. Above,
the great conifers spread their murmuring branches, dimming the light,
and keeping out the heat; their brown boles sprang from the ground like
buttressed columns. On the barren mountain-side beyond the heat was
oppressive. It was small wonder that Bruin should have sought the spot
to cool his gross carcass in the fresh spring water.

The bear is a solitary beast, and although many may assemble together,
in what looks like a drove, on some favorite feeding-ground--usually
where the berries are thick, or by the banks of a salmon-thronged