of men and women, beasts, birds and reptiles, the ends of the earth have
been scoured. All Asia, from Siberia to India is there. Africa is
represented from the Nile to Cape Town. The steppes of Russia and every
out-of-the-way corner of Europe have been visited by the agents of the
showman, and the result is legion. South America, with the wonders of
the Amazon and the pampas and the high fauna of the Andes, is there. Our
own continent also contributes largely, for the Rockies and the Selkirks
still hold wonders for the eyes of youth. Even if we could contribute no
wild beasts, there would still be ample reward for the boy in viewing our
Indians, cow-punchers and real live scouts, such as our border-life alone
can furnish.

It was as a feature of such a motley procession as this that Black
Bruin's van was daily rattled over the paving-stones and finally took its
place each day in the mammoth tent behind the chain, in readiness for the
noon feeding. His van always followed that of a den of gray timber
wolves and was in turn followed by the great white polar bear.

Black Bruin often wondered why his large cousin from the Arctic Circle
spent so much of his time swaying to and fro. It was a queer trick that
he had, whenever he was not in his tank of water, of forever swaying back
and forth, back and forth. Black Bruin often felt fairly frantic
himself, and would pace to and fro for hours, but he could see no relief
in this continual swaying.

Although he had been sold to the circus-agent as a trick-bear, who could
take stoppers out of bottles and do other marvelous tricks, yet he was so
morose during the first summer of his circus life that the keeper could
do nothing with him as a trick-bear; so he merely paraded as one of the
wild beasts.

Men, women and little children came and went in front of his cage by the
thousands and ten thousands. Often the keeper would reach in with a
stick and poke Black Bruin to make him growl, for this amused the
children. He soon learned what was expected of him, and would growl
almost before the stick touched him.

In the hot, stifling summer days, when his cage seemed so cramped and
unendurable, how Black Bruin thirsted for the woods, he alone knew.
Sometimes he would fall asleep and dream of the old free life, only to
wake to the torment of his prison-bars.

There was but one incident during the first year of Black Bruin's circus
life that is worth mentioning. The circus