times tempted them to circle back and watch a
man from some secure retreat, and at such times they slipped as
silently from one thicket to another as a fox, sampling the air for
tell-tale odors, standing erect to watch and listen.

Bit by bit, as I learned more about them, I came to revise my early,
gory opinion of them. My impression had been formed chiefly from tales
of Lewis and Clark's expedition; when they made their memorable trip
across the continent, grizzlies were not afraid of men because the
arrows of the Indians were ineffective against them. Whenever food
attracted them to an Indian camp they moseyed fearlessly among the
tepees, helping themselves to it and scattering the redskins. Their
attempts thus to raid white men's camps gave rise to blood-curdling
stories of their savagery, and their fearless, deadly attacks on men.
These tales, while pure fiction, led to the belief that all bears were
bad and should be killed, at every opportunity; and ever since Lewis
and Clark saw the first one, men with dogs and guns, traps and poison
have been on their trail. While I do not believe bears guilty of the
many offenses charged them, I am sure that they had been the "life of
the party" at many a camp, having been led out of their retirement by
their small-boy curiosity.

In the region where first I followed a bear, or where it followed me,
there ranged two of these animals, each recording a different track and
displaying individual traits which I came to recognize. The smaller
track had short claws that left their prints in the sand or soft
places. In following this track I found that the maker was inclined to
be indolent; that if the digging after a chipmunk was hard he left the
job unfinished and sought easier sources of food. Thus the black bear
that frequented the "bad lands" loafed across his range, living by the
easiest means possible and rarely exerting himself. Twice when
Blackie's trail crossed that of other black bears, the tracks showed
that all stopped to play, romping much as children romp and showing a
sociable disposition. It was usually late in November before the black
bear denned up for the winter, commonly adapting the shelter beneath
some windfall to make a winter home by enlarging and improving it and
perhaps by raking in some dead pine needles.

At the approach of fall Blackie left off distant wanderings, conserved
energy by little exertion, and thus waxed fat. In the thickest of the