it stood on the ground, and in an hour the great beast
had a cavern into the earth and was sinking out of sight, till a
stream of water sent after him filled the hole and forced him again to
view. They moved him to a new cage made for him since he came--a hard
rock floor, great bars of nearly two-inch steel that reached up nine
feet and then projected in for five. The Monarch wheeled once around,
then, rearing, raised his ponderous bulk, wrenched those bars,
unbreakable, and bent and turned them in their sockets with one heave
till the five-foot spears were pointed out, and then sprang to climb.
Nothing but pikes and blazing brands in a dozen ruthless hands could
hold him back. The keepers watched him night and day till a stronger
cage was made, impregnable with steel above and rocks below.

The Untamed One passed swiftly around, tried every bar, examined every
corner, sought for a crack in the rocky floor, and found at last the
place where was a six-inch timber beam--the only piece of wood in its
frame. It was sheathed in iron, but exposed for an inch its whole
length. One claw could reach the wood, and here he lay on his side and
raked--raked all day till a great pile of shavings was lying by it and
the beam sawn in two; but the cross-bolts remained, and when Monarch
put his vast shoulder to the place it yielded not a whit. That was his
last hope; now it was gone; and the huge Bear sank down in the cage
with his nose in his paws and sobbed--long, heavy sobs, animal sounds
indeed, but telling just as truly as in man of the broken spirit--the
hope and the life gone out. The keepers came with food at the
appointed time, but the Bear moved not. They set it down, but in the
morning it was still untouched. The Bear was lying as before, his
ponderous form in the pose he had first taken. The sobbing was
replaced by a low moan at intervals.

Two days went by. The food, untouched, was corrupting in the sun. The
third day, and Monarch still lay on his breast, his huge muzzle under
his huger paw. His eyes were hidden; only a slight heaving of his
broad chest was now seen.

"He is dying," said one keeper. "He can't live overnight."

"Send for Kellyan," said another.

So Kellyan came, slight and thin. There was the beast that he had
chained, pining, dying. He had sobbed his life out in his last hope's
death, and a thrill of pity came over the hunter, for men of grit and
power love grit and power. He put his arm through the cag