runks like matchwood, as he sought
for his daily food. And every beast of hill and plain soon came to know
and fly in fear of Wahb, the one time hunted, persecuted Cub. And more than
one Blackbear paid with his life for the ill-deed of that other, long ago.
And many a cranky Bobcat flying before him took to a tree, and if that tree
were dead and dry, Wahb heaved it down, and tree and Cat alike were dashed
to bits. Even the proud-necked Stallion, leader of the mustang band,
thought well for once to yield the road. The great, grey Timberwolves, and
the Mountain Lions too, left their new kill and sneaked in sullen fear
aside when Wahb appeared. And if, as he hulked across the sage-covered
river-flat sending the scared Antelope skimming like birds before him,
he was faced perchance, by some burly Range-bull, too young to be wise and
too big to be afraid, Wahb smashed his skull with one blow of that giant
paw, and served him as the Range-cow would have served himself long years
ago.

[Illustration: "WAHB SMASHED HIS SKULL."]

The All-mother never fails to offer to her own, twin cups, one gall, and
one of balm. Little or much they may drink, but equally of each. The
mountain that is easy to descend must soon be climbed again. The grinding
hardship of Wahb's early days had built his mighty frame. All usual
pleasures of a grizzly's life had been denied him but _power_ bestowed in
more than double share.

[Illustration]

So he lived on year after year, unsoftened by mate or companion, sullen,
fearing nothing, ready to fight, but asking only to be let alone--quite
alone. He had but one keen pleasure in his sombre life--the lasting glory
in his matchless strength--the small but never failing thrill of joy as the
foe fell crushed and limp, or the riven boulders grit and heaved when he
turned on them the measure of his wondrous force.

[Illustration]

V

Everything has a smell of its own for those that have noses to smell. Wahb
had been learning smells all his life, and knew the meaning of most of
those in the mountains. It was as though each and every thing had a voice
of its own for him; and yet it was far better than a voice, for every one
knows that a good nose is better than eyes and ears together. And each of
these myriads of voices kept on crying, "Here and such am I."

The juniper-berries, the rosehips, the strawberries, each had a soft, sweet
little voice, calling, "Here we are--Berries, Ber