into a deep, narrow canyon. The bottom was threaded with well-beaten elk
trails. While following one of these the two men turned a corner of the
canyon and were instantly charged by an old she-grisly, so close that
it was only by good luck that one of the hurried shots disabled her and
caused her to tumble over a cut bank where she was easily finished.
They found that she had been lying directly across the game trail, on a
smooth well beaten patch of bare earth, which looked as if it had been
dug up, refilled, and trampled down. Looking curiously at this patch
they saw a bit of hide only partially covered at one end; digging down
they found the body of a well grown grisly cub. Its skull had been
crushed, and the brains licked out, and there were signs of other
injuries. The hunters pondered long over this strange discovery, and
hazarded many guesses as to its meaning. At last they decided that
probably the cub had been killed, and its brains eaten out, either by
some old male-grisly or by a cougar, that the mother had returned and
driven away the murderer, and that she had then buried the body and lain
above it, waiting to wreak her vengeance on the first passer-by.

Old Tazewell Woody, during his thirty years' life as a hunter in the
Rockies and on the great plains, killed very many grislies. He always
exercised much caution in dealing with them; and, as it happened, he was
by some suitable tree in almost every case when he was charged. He
would accordingly climb the tree (a practice of which I do not approve
however); and the bear would look up at him and pass on without
stopping. Once, when he was hunting in the mountains with a companion,
the latter, who was down in a valley, while Woody was on the hill-side,
shot at a bear. The first thing Woody knew the wounded grisly, running
up-hill, was almost on him from behind. As he turned it seized his rifle
in its jaws. He wrenched the rifle round, while the bear still gripped
it, and pulled trigger, sending a bullet into its shoulder; whereupon it