dooryard. For an hour I watched every move
of that silent drama, trying to guess the outcome, wondering if the
bear were really asleep. All at once the little gourmand whistled
reassuringly: "All right, it's a friend."

The marmot was not more surprised than myself at what happened next.
The bear lay perhaps a hundred feet from the marmot's home, and the
marmot had fed perhaps forty feet from it--a distance he could quickly
cover if the visitor showed unfriendly symptoms.

But there were no symptoms. It was all over so quickly that I was left
dazed and breathless. There was a small bowlder about four feet high
in the midst of a tiny hayfield where the marmot fed. The unsuspecting
whistler fed into the little field, passed behind the rock, and was out
of sight for just a second. At that instant the bear came to life,
leaped to his feet and dashed toward the den beneath the rock, cutting
off the marmot's retreat.

Too late the quarry saw the bear. It made a frantic dash for home and
shelter, its fat body working desperately, its short legs flying. Ten
feet from the den the bear flattened the marmot with a single quick
slap of his paw. Then he sat down to eat his dinner. His acting had
been perfect; he had fooled me as well as the marmot.

CHAPTER THREE

FIRST CAMP ALONE--EXPLORING

My short trips into the wilds tempted me to go beyond the trails. So
far my rambles had taken me only to the threshold of the wilderness, I
wondered what lay beyond; I wanted to follow the game trails and see
where they led. Above all I was eager to pit my scant skill against
primitive nature and learn if my resourcefulness was equal to the
emergencies of the unknown. Somehow I never doubted my courage--I
simply didn't fear.

As the short high-altitude summer began to wane, I grew restless.
September advanced; the aspen trees near timberline turned to gold;
from day to day those lower down turned also until a vast richly
colored rug covered the mountain sides. Ripe leaves fluttered down,
rustling crisply underfoot. Frost cut down the rank grass, humbled the
weeds and harvested the flowers. Forests of spruce and lodgepole were
dark with shadow. A beaver colony returned to its former haunts at the
foot of Long's Peak and was working night and day. Its pond of still
water was glazing over with clear ice.

October came. The nights grew colder. The snow of early winter came
to the high peaks, dusting their bare,