but it was good to feel the hot, bloody juices oozing between his teeth!

The Coyote was caught in a trap. Wahb hated the smell of the iron, so he
went to the other side of the carcass, where it was not so strong,
and had eaten but little before _clank_, and his foot was caught in a
Wolf-trap that he had not seen.

But he remembered that he had once before been caught and had escaped by
squeezing the trap. He set a hind foot on each spring and pressed till
the trap opened and released his paw. About the carcass was the smell
that he knew stood for man, so he left it and wandered down-stream; but
more and more often he got whiffs of that horrible odor, so he turned
and went back to his quiet pinon benches. Wahb's third summer had
brought him the stature of a large-sized Bear, though not nearly the
bulk and power that in time were his. He was very light-colored now, and
this was why Spahwat, a Shoshone Indian who more than once hunted him,
called him the Whitebear, or Wahb.

Spahwat was a good hunter, and as soon as he saw the rubbing-tree on the
Upper Meteetsee he knew that he was on the range of a big Grizzly. He
bushwhacked the whole valley, and spent many days before he found a
chance to shoot; then Wahb got a stinging flesh-wound in the shoulder.
He growled horribly, but it had seemed to take the fight out of him; he
scrambled up the valley and over the lower hills till he reached a quiet
haunt, where he lay down.

[Illustration]

His knowledge of healing was wholly instinctive. He licked the wound and
all around it, and sought to be quiet. The licking removed the dirt, and