The love-season of Bears came and went year after year, but left him
alone in his prime as he had been in his youth. It is not good for
a Bear to be alone; it is bad for him in every way. His habitual
moroseness grew with his strength, and any one chancing to meet him now
would have called him a dangerous Grizzly.
He had lived in the Meteetsee Valley since first he betook himself
there, and his character had been shaped by many little adventures with
traps and his wild rivals of the mountains. But there was none of the
latter that he now feared, and he knew enough to avoid the first, for
that penetrating odor of man and iron was a never-failing warning,
especially after an experience which befell him in his sixth year.
His ever-reliable nose told him that there was a dead Elk down among the
timber.
[Illustration]
He went up the wind, and there, sure enough, was the great delicious
carcass, already torn open at the very best place. True, there was that
terrible man-and-iron taint, but it was so slight and the feast so
tempting that after circling around and inspecting the carcass from his
eight feet of stature, as he stood erect, he went cautiously forward,
and at once was caught by his left paw in an enormous Bear-trap.
He roared with pain and slashed about in a fury. But this was no
Beaver-trap; it was a big forty-pound Bear-catcher, and he was surely
caught.
Wahb fairly foamed with rage, and madly grit his teeth upon the trap.
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