e
of the ground and the direction of the wind often necessitating a long
circuit; perhaps a gully, a rock, or a fallen log offers a chance for an
approach to within two hundred yards, and although the hunter will, if
possible, get much closer than this, yet even at such a distance a bear
is a large enough mark to warrant taking a shot.

Usually the berry grounds do not offer such favorable opportunities, as
they often lie in thick timber, or are covered so densely with bushes as
to obstruct the view; and they are rarely commanded by a favorable
spot from which to spy. On the other hand, as already said, bears
occasionally forget all their watchfulness while devouring fruit, and
make such a noise rending and tearing the bushes that, if once found, a
man can creep upon them unobserved.

CHAPTER IV.--HUNTING THE GRISLY.

If out in the late fall or early spring, it is often possible to follow
a bear's trail in the snow; having come upon it either by chance or hard
hunting, or else having found where it leads from some carcass on which
the beast has been feeding. In the pursuit one must exercise great
caution, as at such times the hunter is easily seen a long way off,
and game is always especially watchful for any foe that may follow its
trail.

Once I killed a grisly in this manner. It was early in the fall, but
snow lay on the ground, while the gray weather boded a storm. My camp
was in a bleak, wind-swept valley, high among the mountains which form
the divide between the head-waters of the Salmon and Clarke's Fork of
the Columbia. All night I had lain in my buffalo-bag, under the lea of a
windbreak of branches, in the clump of fir-trees, where I had halted
the preceding evening. At my feet ran a rapid mountain torrent, its
bed choked with ice-covered rocks; I had been lulled to sleep by the
stream's splashing murmur, and the loud moaning of the wind along the
naked cliffs. At dawn I rose and shook myself free of the buffalo robe,
coated with hoar-frost. The ashes of the fire were lifeless; in the dim
morning the air was bitter cold. I did not linger a moment, but snatched
up my rifle, pulled on my fur cap and gloves, and strode off up a side
ravine; as I walked I ate some mouthfuls of venison, left over from
supper.

Two hours of toil up the steep mountain brought me to the top of a spur.
The sun had risen, but was hidden behind a bank of sullen clouds. On the
divide I halted, and gazed out over a vast landscape