d is not perfectly clear. So they learn
to sift the sounds and smells of the wilderness, and to govern their
actions accordingly. And second, when they are playing you will see that
the mother watches the cubs' every action as keenly as they watched hers
an hour ago. She will sit flat on her haunches, her fore paws planted
between her outstretched hind legs, her great head on one side, noting
every detail of their boxing and wrestling and climbing, as if she had
showed them once how it ought to be done and were watching now to see
how well they remembered their lessons. And now and then one or the
other of the cubs receives a sound cuffing; for which I am unable to
account, except on the theory that he was doing something contrary to
his plain instructions.

It is only when Mooween meets some new object, or some circumstance
entirely outside of his training, that instinct and native wit are set
to work; and then you see for the first time some trace of hesitation on
the part of this self-confident prowler of the big woods. Once I
startled him on the shore, whither he had come to get the fore quarters
of a deer that had been left there. He jumped for cover at the first
alarm without even turning his head, just as he had seen his mother do,
a score of times, when he was a cub. Then he stopped, and for three or
four seconds considered the danger in plain sight--a thing I have never
seen any other bear imitate. He wavered for a moment more, doubtful
whether my canoe were swifter than he and more dangerous. Then satisfied
that, at least, he had a good chance, he jumped back, grabbed the deer,
and dragged it away into the woods.

Another time I met him on a narrow path where he could not pass me and
where he did not want to turn back, for something ahead was calling him
strongly. That short meeting furnished me the best study in bear nature
and bear instinct that I have ever been allowed to make. And, at this
distance, I have small desire to repeat the experience.

It was on the Little Sou'west Mirimichi, a very wild river, in the heart
of the wilderness. Just above my camp, not half a mile away, was a
salmon pool that, so far as I know, had never been fished. One bank of
the river was an almost sheer cliff, against which the current fretted
and hissed in a strong deep rush to the rapids and a great silent pool
far below. There were salmon under the cliff, plenty of them, balancing
themselves against the arrowy run of the c