way without any interference. Returning to the cabin, he
said to his son Jesse and an Indian who worked for him: "It's that
d----d old Grizzly having a racket with the old bull, but I reckon the
bull is old enough to take care of himself. We'll bar the door and let
'em go it."

So they barred the door and listened to the sounds of the battle. In
less than a quarter of an hour the Monarch got a beautiful licking and
concluded that he didn't want any beef for supper. The bull was tough,
anyway, and he would rather make a light meal off the grub in the
cabin. Jeff heard a great scratching and scrambling as the Monarch
began climbing out of the corral. Then there was a roar and a rush, a
heavy thud as the bull's forehead struck the Monarch's rear elevation,
a growl of pain and surprise and the fall of half a ton or more of bear
meat on the ground outside of the corral.

"I reckon the old bull has made that cuss lose his appetite," chuckled
Jeff. "He won't come fooling around this ranch any more. I'll bet
he's the sorest bear that ever wore hair."

The three men in the cabin were laughing and enjoying the triumph of
the bull when "whang!" came something against the door, and they all
jumped for their guns. It was the discomfited but not discouraged
Monarch breaking into the cabin in search of his supper. With two or
three blows of his ponderous paw the grizzly smashed the door to
splinters, but as he poked his head in he met a volley from two rifles
and a shotgun. He looked at Jeff reproachfully for the inhospitable
reception, turned about and went away, more in sorrow than in anger.

Jeff Martin's next meeting with the Monarch was in the Big Tejunga. He
and his son Jesse were hunting deer along the side of the canyon, when
they saw a big bear in the brush about a hundred yards up the hill.
Both fired at the same moment and one ball at least hit the bear.
Uttering a roar of pain, the grizzly snapped viciously at his shoulder
where the bullet struck, and as he turned his head he saw the two
hunters, who then recognized the Monarch by his huge bulk and grizzled
front. The Monarch came with a rush like an avalanche down the
mountain side, breaking through the manzanita brush and smashing down
young trees as easily as a man tramples down grass. His lowered head
offered no fair mark for a bullet, and he came on with such speed that
only a chance shot could have hit him anywhere. Jeff and his son Jess
did not t