[Illustration]




    V


Everything has a smell of its own for those that have noses to smell. Wahb
had been learning smells all his life, and knew the meaning of most of
those in the mountains. It was as though each and every thing had a voice
of its own for him; and yet it was far better than a voice, for every one
knows that a good nose is better than eyes and ears together. And each of
these myriads of voices kept on crying, "Here and such am I."

The juniper-berries, the rosehips, the strawberries, each had a soft, sweet
little voice, calling, "Here we are--Berries, Berries."

The great pine woods had a loud, far-reaching voice, "Here are we, the
Pine-trees," but when he got right up to them Wahb could hear the low,
sweet call of the piГ±on-nuts, "Here are we, the PiГ±on-nuts."

And the quamash beds in May sang a perfect chorus when the wind was right:
"Quamash beds, Quamash beds."

And when he got among them he made out each single voice. Each root had
its own little piece to say to his nose: "Here am I, a big Quamash, rich
and ripe," or a tiny, sharp voice, "Here am I, a good-for-nothing, stringy
little root."

    [Illustration]

And the broad, rich russulas in the autumn called aloud, "I am a fat,
wholesome Mushroom," and the deadly amanita cried, "I am an Amanita. Let me
alone, or you'll be a sick Bear." And the fairy harebell of the caГ±on-banks
sang a song too, as fine as its thread-like stem, and as soft as its dainty
blue; but the warden of the smells had learned to report it not, for this,
and a million other such, were of no interest to Wahb.

So every living thing that moved, and every flower that grew, and every
rock and stone and shape on earth told out its tale and sang its little
story to his nose. Day or night, fog or bright, that great, moist nose told
him most of the things he needed to know, or passed unnoticed those of no
concern, and he depended on it more and more. If his eyes and ears together
reported so and so, he would not even then believe it until his nose said,
"Yes; that is right."

But this is something that man cannot understand, for he has sold the
birthright of his nose for the privilege of living in towns.

    [Illustration]

While hundreds of smells were agreeable to Wahb, thousands were indifferent
to him, a good many were unpleasant, and some actually put him in a rage.

He had often noticed that if a west wind were blowing when he was at the
head of the Piney CaГ±on there was an odd, new scent. Some days he did not
mind it, and some days it disgusted him; but he never followed it up. On
other days a north wind from the high Divide brought a most awful smell,
something unlike any other, a smell that he wanted only to get away from.

                  *       *       *       *       *

    [Illustration]

Wahb was getting well past his youth now, and he began to have pains in the
hind leg that had been wounded so often. After a cold night or a long time
of wet weather he could scarcely use that leg, and one day, while thus
crippled, the west wind came down the caГ±on with an odd message to his
nose. Wahb could not clearly read the message, but it seemed to say,
"Come," and something within him said, "Go." The smell of food will draw a
hungry creature and disgust a gorged one. We do not know why, and all that
any one can learn is that the desire springs from a need of the body. So
Wahb felt drawn by what had long disgusted him, and he slouched up the
mountain path, grumbling to himself and slapping savagely back at branches
that chanced to switch his face.

    [Illustration]

The odd odor grew very strong; it led him where he had never been
before--up a bank of whitish sand to a bench of the same color, where there
was unhealthy-looking water running down, and a kind of fog coming out of a
hole. Wahb threw up his nose suspiciously--such a peculiar smell! He
climbed the bench.

    [Illustration]

A snake wriggled across the sand in front. Wahb crushed it with a blow that
made the near trees shiver and sent a balanced boulder toppling down, and
he growled a growl that rumbled up the valley like distant thunder. Then he
came to the foggy hole. It was full of water that moved gently and steamed.
Wahb put in his foot, and found it was quite warm and that it felt
pleasantly on his skin. He put in both feet, and little by little went in
farther, causing the pool to overflow on all sides, till he was lying at
full length in the warm, almost hot, sulphur-spring, and sweltering in the
greenish water, while the wind drifted the steam about overhead.

    [Illustration: "CAUSING THE POOL TO OVERFLOW."]

There are plenty of these sulphur-springs in the Rockies, but this chanced
to be the only one on Wahb's range. He lay in it for over an hour; then,
feeling that he had had enough, he heaved his huge bulk up on the bank, and
realized that he was feeling remarkably well and supple. The stiffness of
his hind leg was gone.

He shook the water from his shaggy coat. A broad ledge in full sun-heat
invited him to stretch himself out and dry. But first he reared against the
nearest tree and left a mark that none could mistake. True, there were
plenty of signs of other animals using the sulphur-bath for their ills; but
what of it? Thenceforth that tree bore this inscription, in a language of
mud, hair, and smell, that every mountain creature could read:

                     My bath. Keep away!
                        (Signed) WAHB

    [Illustration]

Wahb lay on his belly till his back was dry, then turned on his broad back
and squirmed about in a ponderous way till the broiling sun had wholly
dried him. He realized that he was really feeling very well now. He did
not say to himself, "I am troubled with that unpleasant disease called
rheumatism, and sulphur-bath treatment is the thing to cure it." But what
he did know was, "I have dreadful pains; I feel better when I am in this
stinking pool." So thenceforth he came back whenever the pains began again,
and each time he was cured.

    [Illustration]

    [Illustration]

    [Illustration]




    PART III

    THE WANING

    [Illustration]




    I


Years went by. Wahb grew no bigger,--there was no need for that,--but he
got whiter, crosser, and more dangerous. He really had an enormous range
now. Each spring, after the winter storms had removed his notice-boards, he
went around and renewed them. It was natural to do so, for, first of all,
the scarcity of food compelled him to travel all over the range. There
were lots of clay wallows at that season, and the itching of his skin, as
the winter coat began to shed, made the dressing of cool, wet clay very
pleasant, and the exquisite pain of a good scratching was one of the finest
pleasures he knew. So, whatever his motive, the result was the same: the
signs were renewed each spring.

    [Illustration]

At length the Palette Ranch outfit appeared on the Lower Piney, and the men
got acquainted with the "ugly old fellow." The Cow-punchers, when they saw
him, decided they "hadn't lost any Bears and they had better keep out of
his way and let him mind his business."

    [Illustration]

They did not often see him, although his tracks and sign-boards were
everywhere. But the owner of this outfit, a born hunter, took a keen
interest in Wahb. He learned something of the old Bear's history from
Colonel Pickett, and found out for himself more than the colonel ever knew.

He learned that Wahb ranged as far south as the Upper Wiggins Fork and
north to the Stinking Water, and from the Meteetsee to the Shoshones.

He found that Wahb knew more about Bear-traps than most trappers do; that
he either passed them by or tore open the other end of the bait-pen and
dragged out the bait without going near the trap, and by accident or design
Wahb sometimes sprang the trap with one of the logs that formed the pen.
This ranch-owner found also that Wahb disappeared from his range each year
during the heat of the summer, as completely as he did each winter during
his sleep.

    [Illustration]




    II


Many years ago a wise government set aside the head waters of the
Yellowstone to be a sanctuary of wildlife forever. In the limits of this
great Wonderland the ideal of the Royal Singer was to be realized, and none
were to harm or make afraid. No violence was to be offered to any bird or
beast, no ax was to be carried into its primitive forests, and the streams
were to flow on forever unpolluted by mill or mine. All things were to
bear witness that such as this was the West before the white man came.

    [Illustration]

The wild animals quickly found out all this. They soon learned the
boundaries of this unfenced Park, and, as every one knows, they show a
different nature within its sacred limits. They no longer shun the face of
man, they neither fear nor attack him, and they are even more tolerant of
one another in this land of refuge.

Peace and plenty are the sum of earthly good; so, finding them here, the
wild creatures crowd into the Park from the surrounding country in numbers
not elsewhere to be seen.

    [Illustration]

The Bears are especially numerous about the Fountain Hotel. In the woods, a
quarter of a mile away, is a smooth open place where the steward of the
hotel has all the broken and waste food put out daily for the Bears, and
the man whose work it is has become the Steward of the Bears' Banquet. Each
day it is spread, and each year there are more Bears to partake of it. It
is a common thing now to see a dozen Bears feasting there at one time. They
are of all kinds--Black, Brown, Cinnamon, Grizzly, Silvertip, Roachbacks,
big and small, families and rangers, from all parts of the vast surrounding
country. All seem to realize that in the Park no violence is allowed, and
the most ferocious of them have here put on a new behavior. Although
scores of Bears roam about this choice resort, and sometimes quarrel among
themselves, not one of them has ever yet harmed a man.

    [Illustration]

Year after year they have come and gone. The passing travellers see them.
The men of the hotel know many of them well. They know that they show up
each summer during the short season when the hotel is in use, and that they
disappear again, no man knowing whence they come or whither they go.

    [Illustration]

One day the owner of the Palette Ranch came through the Park. During his
stay at the Fountain Hotel, he went to the Bear Banquet Hall at high
meal-tide. There were several Blackbears feasting, but they made way for a
huge Silvertip Grizzly that came about sundown.

    [Illustration]

"That," said the man who was acting as guide, "is the biggest Grizzly in
the Park; but he is a peaceable sort, or Lud knows what'd happen."

"That!" said the ranchman, in astonishment, as the Grizzly came hulking
nearer, and loomed up like a load of hay among the piney pillars of the
Banquet Hall. "That! If that is not Meteetsee Wahb, I never saw a Bear in
my life! Why, that is the worst Grizzly that ever rolled a log in the Big
Horn Basin."

"It ain't possible," said the other, "for he's here every summer, July and
August, an' I reckon he don't live so far away."

    [Illustration]

"Well, that settles it," said the ranchman; "July and August is just the
time we miss him on the range; and you can see for yourself that he is a
little lame behind and has lost a claw of his left front foot. Now I know
where he puts in his summers; but I did not suppose that the old reprobate
would know enough to behave himself away from home."

The big Grizzly became very well known during the successive hotel seasons.
Once only did he really behave ill, and that was the first season he
appeared, before he fully knew the ways of the Park.

    [Illustration]

He wandered over to the hotel, one day, and in at the front door. In the
hall he reared up his eight feet of stature as the guests fled in terror;
then he went into the clerk's office. The man said: "All right; if you need
this office more than I do, you can have it," and leaping over the counter,
locked himself in the telegraph-office to wire the superintendent of the
Park: "Old Grizzly in the office now, seems to want to run hotel; may we
shoot?"

The reply came: "No shooting allowed in Park; use the hose." Which they
did, and, wholly taken by surprise, the Bear leaped over the counter too,
and ambled out the back way, with a heavy _thud-thudding_ of his feet, and
a rattling of his claws on the floor. He passed through the kitchen as he
went, and, picking up a quarter of beef, took it along.

This was the only time he was known to do ill, though on one occasion he
was led into a breach of the peace by another Bear. This was a large
she-Blackbear and a noted mischief-maker. She had a wretched, sickly cub
that she was very proud of--so proud that she went out of her way to seek
trouble on his behalf. And he, like all spoiled children, was the cause of
much bad feeling. She was so big and fierce that she could bully all the
other Blackbears, but when she tried to drive off old Wahb she received a
pat from his paw that sent her tumbling like a football. He followed her
up, and would have killed her, for she had broken the peace of the Park,
but she escaped by climbing a tree, from the top of which her miserable
little cub was apprehensively squealing at the pitch of his voice. So the
affair was ended; in future the Blackbear kept out of Wahb's way, and he
won the reputation of being a peaceable, well-behaved Bear. Most persons
believed that he came from some remote mountains where were neither guns
nor traps to make him sullen and revengeful.

    [Illustration]




    III


Every one knows that a Bitter-root Grizzly is a bad Bear. The Bitter-root
Range is the roughest part of the mountains. The ground is everywhere cut
up with deep ravines and overgrown with dense and tangled underbrush.

It is an impossible country for horses, and difficult for gunners, and
there is any amount of good Bear-pasture. So there are plenty of Bears and
plenty of trappers.

    [Illustration]

The Roachbacks, as the Bitter-root Grizzlies are called, are a cunning and
desperate race. An old Roachback knows more about traps than half a dozen
ordinary trappers; he knows more about plants and roots than a whole
college of botanists. He can tell to a certainty just when and where to
find each kind of grub and worm, and he knows by a whiff whether the hunter
on his trail a mile away is working with guns, poison, dogs, traps, or all
of them together. And he has one general rule, which is an endless puzzle
to the hunter: "Whatever you decide to do, do it quickly and follow it
right up." So when a trapper and a Roachback meet, the Bear at once makes
up his mind to run away as hard as he can, or to rush at the man and fight
to a finish.

The Grizzlies of the Bad Lands did not do this: they used to stand on their
dignity and growl like a thunder-storm, and so gave the hunters a chance to
play their deadly lightning; and lightning is worse than thunder any day.
Men can get used to growls that rumble along the ground and up one's legs
to the little house where one's courage lives; but Bears cannot get used to
45-90 soft-nosed bullets, and that is why the Grizzlies of the Bad Lands
were all killed off.

So the hunters have learned that they never know what a Roachback will do;
but they do know that he is going to be quick about it.

Altogether these Bitter-root Grizzlies have solved very well the problem of
life, in spite of white men, and are therefore increasing in their own wild
mountains.

Of course a range will hold only so many Bears, and the increase is crowded
out; so that when that slim young Bald-faced Roachback found he could not
hold the range he wanted, he went out perforce to seek his fortune in the
world.

    [Illustration]

He was not a big Bear, or he would not have been crowded out; but he had
been trained in a good school, so that he was cunning enough to get on very
well elsewhere. How he wandered down to the Salmon River Mountains and did
not like them; how he traveled till he got among the barbwire fences of the
Snake Plains and of course could not stay there; how a mere chance turned
him from going eastward to the Park, where he might have rested; how he
made for the Snake River Mountains and found more hunters than berries; how
he crossed into the Tetons and looked down with disgust on the teeming man
colony of Jackson's Hole, does not belong to this history of Wahb. But when
Baldy Roachback crossed the Gros Ventre Range and over the Wind River
Divide to the head of the Graybull, he does come into the story, just as he
did into the country and the life of the Meteetsee Grizzly.

The Roachback had not found a man-sign since he left Jackson's Hole, and
here he was in a land of plenty of food. He feasted on all the delicacies
of the season, and enjoyed the easy, brushless country till he came on one
of Wahb's sign-posts.

"Trespassers beware!" it said in the plainest manner. The Roachback reared
up against it.

"Thunder! what a Bear!" The nose-mark was a head and neck above Baldy's
highest reach. Now, a simple Bear would have gone quietly away after this
discovery; but Baldy felt that the mountains owed him a living, and here
was a good one if he could keep out of the way of the big fellow. He nosed
about the place, kept a sharp lookout for the present owner, and went on
feeding wherever he ran across a good thing.

    [Illustration]

A step or two from this ominous tree was an old pine stump. In the
Bitter-roots there are often mice-nests under such stumps, and Baldy jerked
it over to see. There was nothing. The stump rolled over against the
sign-post. Baldy had not yet made up his mind about it; but a new notion
came into his cunning brain. He turned his head on this side, then on
that. He looked at the stump, then at the sign, with his little pig-like
eyes. Then he deliberately stood up on the pine root, with his back to the
tree, and put his mark away up, a head at least above that of Wahb. He
rubbed his back long and hard, and he sought some mud to smear his head and
shoulders, then came back and made the mark so big, so strong, and so high,
and emphasized it with such claw-gashes in the bark, that it could be read
only in one way--a challenge to the present claimant from some monstrous
invader, who was ready, nay anxious, to fight to a finish for this
desirable range.

    [Illustration: "HE DELIBERATELY STOOD UP ON THE PINE ROOT."]

Maybe it was accident and maybe design, but when the Roachback jumped from
the root it rolled to one side. Baldy went on down the caГ±on, keeping the
keenest lookout for his enemy.

It was not long before Wahb found the trail of the interloper, and all the
ferocity of his outside-the-Park nature was aroused.

He followed the trail for miles on more than one occasion. But the small
Bear was quick-footed as well as quick-witted, and never showed himself. He
made a point, however, of calling at each sign-post, and if there was any
means of cheating, so that his mark might be put higher, he did it with a
vim, and left a big, showy record. But if there was no chance for any but
a fair register, he would not go near the tree, but looked for a fresh tree
near by with some log or side-ledge to reach from.

    [Illustration]

Thus Wahb soon found the interloper's marks towering far above his own--a
monstrous Bear evidently, that even he could not be sure of mastering. But
Wahb was no coward. He was ready to fight to a finish anyone that might
come; and he hunted the range for that invader. Day after day Wahb sought
for him and held himself ready to fight. He found his trail daily, and more
and more often he found that towering record far above his own. He often
smelled him on the wind; but he never saw him, for the old Grizzly's eyes
had grown very dim of late years; things but a little way off were mere
blurs to him. The continual menace could not but fill Wahb with uneasiness,
for he was not young now, and his teeth and claws were worn and blunted. He
was more than ever troubled with pains in his old wounds, and though he
could have risen on the spur of the moment to fight any number of Grizzlies
of any size, still the continual apprehension, the knowledge that he must
hold himself ready at any moment to fight this young monster, weighed on
his spirits and began to tell on his general health.

    [Illustration]




    IV


The Roachback's life was one of continual vigilance, always ready to run,
doubling and shifting to avoid the encounter that must mean instant death
to him. Many a time from some hiding-place he watched the great Bear, and
trembled lest the wind should betray him. Several times his very impudence
saved him, and more than once he was nearly cornered in a box-caГ±on. Once
he escaped only by climbing up a long crack in a cliff, which Wahb's huge
frame could not have entered. But still, in a mad persistence, he kept on
marking the trees farther into the range.

    [Illustration]

At last he scented and followed up the sulphur-bath. He did not understand
it at all. It had no appeal to him, but hereabouts were the tracks of the
owner. In a spirit of mischief the Roachback scratched dirt into the
spring, and then seeing the rubbing-tree, he stood sidewise on the rocky
ledge, and was thus able to put his mark fully five feet above that of
Wahb. Then he nervously jumped down, and was running about, defiling the
bath and keeping a sharp lookout, when he heard a noise in the woods
below. Instantly he was all alert. The sound drew near, then the wind
brought the sure proof, and the Roachback, in terror, turned and fled into
the woods.

    [Illustration: "THE ROACHBACK FLED INTO THE WOODS."]

    [Illustration]

It was Wahb. He had been failing in health of late; his old pains were on
him again, and, as well as his hind leg, had seized his right shoulder,
where were still lodged two rifle-balls. He was feeling very ill, and
crippled with pain. He came up the familiar bank at a jerky limp, and there
caught the odor of the foe; then he saw the track in the mud--his eyes said
the track of a _small_ Bear, but his eyes were dim now, and his nose, his
unerring nose, said, "This is the track of the huge invader." Then he
noticed the tree with his sign on it, and there beyond doubt was the
stranger's mark far above his own. His eyes and nose were agreed on this;
and more, they told him that the foe was close at hand, might at any moment
come.

    [Illustration]

Wahb was feeling ill and weak with pain. He was in no mood for a desperate
fight. A battle against such odds would be madness now. So, without taking
the treatment, he turned and swung along the bench away from the direction
taken by the stranger--the first time since his cubhood that he had
declined to fight.

That was a turning-point in Wahb's life. If he had followed up the
stranger he would have found the miserable little craven trembling,
cowering, in an agony of terror, behind a log in a natural trap, a
walled-in glade only fifty yards away, and would surely have crushed him.
Had he even taken the bath, his strength and courage would have been
renewed, and if not, then at least in time he would have met his foe, and
his after life would have been different. But he had turned. This was the
fork in the trail, but he had no means of knowing it.

    [Illustration]

He limped along, skirting the lower spurs of the Shoshones, and soon came
on that horrid smell that he had known for years, but never followed up or
understood. It was right in his road, and he traced it to a small, barren
ravine that was strewn over with skeletons and dark objects, and Wahb, as
he passed, smelled a smell of many different animals, and knew by its
quality that they were lying dead in this treeless, grassless hollow. For
there was a cleft in the rocks at the upper end, whence poured a deadly
gas; invisible but heavy, it filled the little gulch like a brimming poison
bowl, and at the lower end there was a steady overflow. But Wahb knew only
that the air that poured from it as he passed made him dizzy and sleepy,
and repelled him, so that he got quickly away from it and was glad once
more to breathe the piny wind.

Once Wahb decided to retreat, it was all too easy to do so next time; and
the result worked double disaster. For, since the big stranger was allowed
possession of the sulphur-spring, Wahb felt that he would rather not go
there. Sometimes when he came across the traces of his foe, a spurt of his
old courage would come back. He would rumble that thunder-growl as of old,
and go painfully lumbering along the trail to settle the thing right then
and there. But he never overtook the mysterious giant, and his rheumatism,
growing worse now that he was barred from the cure, soon made him daily
less capable of either running or fighting.

Sometimes Wahb would sense his foe's approach when he was in a bad place
for fighting, and, without really running, he would yield to a wish to be
on a better footing, where he would have a fair chance. This better footing
never led him nearer the enemy, for it is well known that the one awaiting
has the advantage.

Some days Wahb felt so ill that it would have been madness to have staked
everything on a fight, and when he felt well or a little better, the
stranger seemed to keep away.

    [Illustration]

Wahb soon found that the stranger's track was most often on the Warhouse
and the west slope of the Piney, the very best feeding-grounds. To avoid
these when he did not feel equal to fighting was only natural, and as he
was always in more or less pain now, it amounted to abandoning to the
stranger the best part of the range.

    [Illustration]

Weeks went by. Wahb had meant to go back to his bath, but he never did. His
pains grew worse; he was now crippled in his right shoulder as well as in
his hind leg.

The long strain of waiting for the fight begot anxiety, that grew to be
apprehension, which, with the sapping of his strength, was breaking down
his courage, as it always must when courage is founded on muscular force.
His daily care now was not to meet and fight the invader, but to avoid him
till he felt better.

Thus that first little retreat grew into one long retreat. Wahb had to go
farther and farther down the Piney to avoid an encounter. He was daily
worse fed, and as the weeks went by was daily less able to crush a foe.

He was living and hiding at last on the Lower Piney--the very place where
once his Mother had brought him with his little brothers. The life he led
now was much like the one he had led after that dark day. Perhaps for the
same reason. If he had had a family of his own all might have been
different. As he limped along one morning, seeking among the barren aspen
groves for a few roots, or the wormy partridge-berries that were too poor
to interest the Squirrel and the Grouse, he heard a stone rattle down the
western slope into the woods, and, a little later, on the wind was borne
the dreaded taint. He waded through the ice-cold Piney,--once he would have
leaped it,--and the chill water sent through and up each great hairy limb
keen pains that seemed to reach his very life. He was retreating
again--which way? There seemed but one way now--toward the new ranch-house.

    [Illustration]

But there were signs of stir about it long before he was near enough to be
seen. His nose, his trustiest friend, said, "Turn, turn and seek the
hills," and turn he did even at the risk of meeting there the dreadful
foe. He limped painfully along the north bank of the Piney, keeping in the
hollows and among the trees. He tried to climb a cliff that of old he had
often bounded up at full speed. When half-way up his footing gave way, and
down he rolled to the bottom. A long way round was now the only road, for
onward he must go--on--on. But where? There seemed no choice now but to
abandon the whole range to the terrible stranger.

    [Illustration]

And feeling, as far as a Bear can feel, that he is fallen, defeated,
dethroned at last, that he is driven from his ancient range by a Bear too
strong for him to face, he turned up the west fork, and the lot was drawn.
The strength and speed were gone from his once mighty limbs; he took three
times as long as he once would to mount each well-known ridge, and as he
went he glanced backward from time to time to know if he were pursued. Away
up the head of the little branch were the Shoshones, bleak, forbidding; no
enemies were there, and the Park was beyond it all--on, on he must go. But
as he climbed with shaky limbs, and short uncertain steps, the west wind
brought the odor of Death Gulch, that fearful little valley where
everything was dead, where the very air was deadly. It used to disgust him
and drive him away, but now Wahb felt that it had a message for him; he was
drawn by it. It was in his line of flight, and he hobbled slowly toward
the place. He went nearer, nearer, until he stood upon the entering ledge.
A Vulture that had descended to feed on one of the victims was slowly going
to sleep on the untouched carcass. Wahb swung his great grizzled muzzle and
his long white beard in the wind. The odor that he once had hated was
attractive now. There was a strange biting quality in the air. His body
craved it. For it seemed to numb his pain and it promised sleep, as it did
that day when first he saw the place.

    [Illustration]

    [Illustration]

Far below him, to the right and to the left and on and on as far as the eye
could reach, was the great kingdom that once had been his: where he had
lived for years in the glory of his strength; where none had dared to meet
him face to face. The whole earth could show no view more beautiful. But
Wahb had no thought of its beauty; he only knew that it was a good land to
live in; that it had been his, but that now it was gone, for his strength
was gone, and he was flying to seek a place where he could rest and be at
peace.

Away over the Shoshones, indeed, was the road to the Park, but it was far,
far away, with a doubtful end to the long, doubtful journey. But why so
far? Here in this little gulch was all he sought; here were peace and
painless sleep. He knew it; for his nose, his never-erring nose, said,
"_Here! here now!_"

He paused a moment at the gate, and as he stood the wind-borne fumes began
their subtle work. Five were the faithful wardens of his life, and the best
and trustiest of them all flung open wide the door he long had kept. A
moment still Wahb stood in doubt. His lifelong guide was silent now, had
given up his post. But another sense he felt within. The Angel of the Wild
Things was standing there, beckoning, in the little vale. Wahb did not
understand. He had no eyes to see the tear in the Angel's eyes, nor the
pitying smile that was surely on his lips. He could not even see the Angel.
But he _felt_ him beckoning, beckoning.

    [Illustration: "HE PAUSED A MOMENT AT THE GATE."]

A rush of his ancient courage surged in the Grizzly's rugged breast. He
turned aside into the little gulch. The deadly vapors entered in, filled
his huge chest and tingled in his vast, heroic limbs as he calmly lay down
on the rocky, herbless floor and as gently went to sleep, as he did that
day in his Mother's arms by the Graybull, long ago.

    [Illustration]