The snow had melted here and he was calmly digging roots in the
soft ground. We signalled to our party and all drew together as we
advanced on our first bear, keeping out of sight as we did so.
We planned to go rapidly down a little cut in the hills and intercept
him as he came around the turn. Progressing at a rapid pace, Indian
file, we five hunters went down the draw, when suddenly our bear, who
had taken an unexpected cut-off, came walking up the ravine. At a sign
from Ned, we dropped to our knees and awaited developments. The bear
had not seen us and the faint breeze blew from him to us. He was about
two hundred yards off. We were all in a direct line, Frost ahead, I
next, Young behind me, and the others in the rear. Our bows were braced
and arrows nocked.
Slowly the bear came feeding toward us. He dug the roots of white
violets, he sniffed, he meandered back and forth, wholly unconscious of
our presence. We hardly breathed. He was not a good specimen, rather a
scrawny, long-nosed, male adolescent, but a real grizzly and would do
as a starter.
At last he came within fifty yards, stopped, pawed a patch of snow, and
still we did not shoot.
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