terrified the little cub creeping at his mother's heels. He knew now
where his den was,--just behind that whitish gray rock with the
juniper shrub over it. He ran eagerly to resume possession.

It was now, for the first time, that he found the wilderness less
empty than he had imagined it. Another bear was in possession of the
den,--and in no mood to be disturbed.

He flung himself upon the intruder with a savage roar. The next moment
the two, clutched in a madly clawing embrace, went crashing through a
fringe of bushes and rolled together down a twenty-foot slope of bald
rock. They landed in a crevice full of roots, with a violence that
half-stunned them and threw them apart. As they picked themselves up,
it was plain that the exile had had the best of the tussle. His rich
black fur, to be sure, was somewhat torn and bloody, but he showed no
other signs of battle; while his antagonist breathed heavily and held
one paw clear of the ground.

[Illustration: "THE EAGLE FLYING FAR BELOW HIM."]

The exile was quite fearless, and quite ready to fight for what he
wanted, if necessary. But he was not conscious of any particular
ill-will toward his assailant. What he wanted was possession of that
den. Now, instead of taking advantage of his adversary's partly
disabled condition, he clambered with undignified haste up the steep
rock and plunged into the cave. It was certainly much smaller than he
had imagined it, but it was, nevertheless, much to his taste. He
turned around in it two or three times, as if to adjust it to himself,
then squatted on his haunches in the entrance and looked out
complacently over the airy deeps. The dispossessed bear stood for a
few minutes irresolute, his small eyes red with wrath. For a moment or
two he hesitated, trying to work himself up to the attack. Then
discretion came to his rescue. Grumbling deep in his throat, he turned
and limped away, to seek new quarters on the other side of the
mountain.

Now began for the returned exile two or three months of just such a
life as he had longed for. The keen and tonic winds that blew around
the peak of Sugar Loaf filled his veins with vigour. Through his lack
of education in the lore of the wilderness, his diet was less varied
than it might have been; but this was the fat of the year, and he
fared well enough. When the late berries and fruits were all gone
there were sweet tubers and starchy roots to be grubbed up along the
meadow levels by the wa