had
brought along for bait, and the sticky fluid oozed over his thrashing
legs. Four hours he lay, imprisoned, shouting at intervals, with the
hope that some wandering prospector or trapper might hear him. Instead
a bear came his way, tempted by the scent of the much-loved honey.

The bear loitered near by some time, no doubt wary of the presence of
man, but at last his appetite overcame his caution, and he started
licking up the honey. Almost frantic with fear, dreading the gash of
tearing teeth, the man lay quiet, while the animal licked the smears
off his trembling legs. Fortunately for the trapper, the bear was not
out for meat that day; so, after cleaning up the sweet, he went his
way. The relieved and unharmed man was rescued shortly afterward.

The only serious injury I have suffered from a wild animal was
inflicted inside the city limits of Denver, Colorado's largest city and
capital. The beginning of this story dated back to the time when I
discovered that another grizzly had intruded into the "bad lands" of my
bears. The first announcement of the strange bear's arrival was its
tracks, together with those of two tiny cubs. This was in May, while
yet the snowbanks lingered in that high country.

Across the miles of fallen timber I lugged a steel bear trap and set it
in a likely spot beside the frozen carcass of a deer. Afterwards I
inspected it every day, though, to do so, I had to cross boggy, rough
country, fretted over with fallen logs. I always found plenty of bear
tracks--it was typical bear country--and there were many signs of their
activities: old logs torn apart, ant hills disturbed, and lush grass
trampled.

The first week in June, I made a surprising catch--three grizzly bears
and a fox. A mother grizzly had stepped into my trap, and her two
cubs, of about fifteen pounds each, had lingered near by, until,
growing hungry, they had ventured to their mother, and one had been
caught in a coyote trap set to protect the bait. The fox had been
caught before the bear's arrival. Mrs. Grizzly, frantic over her
predicament, had demolished everything within her reach, tearing the
red fox from its trap, literally shredding it, apparently feeling it
was to blame for her misfortune.

Her struggles soon exhausted her, for it was a warm day, and when I
discovered her she was about spent, and easily dispatched.

The cubs, very small, helpless and forlorn, howled lustily for their
mother. I decided