Then they clinched and rolled over and over, whacking and pounding,
snorting and growling, and making no end of dust and rumpus. But above
all then: noise I could clearly hear Little Johnny, yelling at the top
of his voice, and evidently encouraging his mother to go right in and
finish the Grizzly at once.

Why the Grizzly did not break her in two I could not understand. After a
few minutes' struggle, during which I could see nothing but dust and
dim flying legs, the two separated as by mutual consent--perhaps the
regulation time was up--and for a while they stood glaring at each
other, Grumpy at least much winded.

The Grizzly would have dropped the matter right there. He did not wish
to fight. He had no idea of troubling himself about Johnny. All he
wanted was a quiet meal. But no! The moment he took one step toward the
garbage-pile, that is, as Grumpy thought, toward Johnny, she went at him
again. But this time the Grizzly was ready for her. With one blow he
knocked her off her feet and sent her crashing on to a huge upturned
pine-root. She was fairly staggered this time. The force of the blow,
and the rude reception of the rooty antlers, seemed to take all the
fight out of her. She scrambled over and tried to escape. But the
Grizzly was mad now. He meant to punish her, and dashed around the root.
For a minute they kept up a dodging chase about it; but Grumpy was
quicker of foot, and somehow always managed to keep the root between
herself and her foe, while Johnny, safe in the tree, continued to take
an intense and uproarious interest.

[Illustration] At length, seeing he could not catch her that way, the
Grizzly sat up on his haunches; and while he doubtless was planning a
new move, old Grumpy saw her chance, and making a dash, got away from