too poor to interest the Squirrel and the Grouse, he heard a stone
rattle down the western slope into the woods, and, a little later, on
the wind was borne the dreaded taint. He waded through the ice-cold
Piney,--once he would have leaped it,--and the chill water sent through
and up each great hairy limb keen pains that seemed to reach his very
life. He was retreating again--which way? There seemed but one way
now--toward the new ranch-house.

But there were signs of stir about it long before he was near enough to
be seen. His nose, his trustiest friend, said, "Turn, turn and seek the
hills," and turn he did even at the risk of meeting there the dreadful
foe. He limped painfully along the north bank of the Piney, keeping in
the hollows and among the trees. He tried to climb a cliff that of old
he had often bounded up at full speed. When half-way up his footing gave
way, and down he rolled to the bottom. A long way round was now the only
road, for onward he must go--on--on. But where? There seemed no choice
now but to abandon the whole range to the terrible stranger.

And feeling, as far as a Bear can feel, that he is fallen, defeated,
dethroned at last, that he is driven from his ancient range by a Bear
too strong for him to face, he turned up the west fork, and the lot was
drawn. The strength and speed were gone from his once mighty limbs;
he took three times as long as he once would to mount each well-known
ridge, and as he went he glanced backward from time to time to know
if he were pursued. Away up the head of the little branch were the
Shoshones, bleak, forbidding; no enemies were there, and the Park was
beyond it all--on, on he must go. But as he climbed with shaky limbs,
and short uncertain steps, the west wind brought the odor of Death
Gulch, that fearful little valley where everything was dead, where the
very air was deadly. It used to disgust him and drive him away, but now