The Grizzly, Our Greatest Wild Animal. Enos A. Mills

occasionally does the old bear leave the cubs behind, and this as a rule is not for long. She is constantly watchful for their safety and makes haste to place herself between the cubs and any possible danger. In retreating she usually leads the way, the cubs following closely, but if nearly cornered she is likely to act as rear guard.

      Crossing the mountains one stormy spring day, I paused in a whirl of mist and wet snow to look for the trail. Peering ahead, I beheld a grizzly bear emerging from the gloom only a few yards away. Close behind her were two small cubs. Mother Grizzly, as much surprised as I, instantly retreated. With an impatient expression and a growl of anger she wheeled quickly about and boxed the cubs right and left like a nervous mother. Urged on with spanks from behind, the youngsters turned back in the direction they had come from, and all vanished in the falling snow.

      Though gentle and patient, the grizzly mother uses a limited amount of cuffing and spanking with the cubs, especially if they are in danger. One day from far across a cañon I was watching two cubs walking along a wild-life trail in front of their mother, when a pack outfit appeared on my side of the cañon. The mother and the cubs saw it, and she at once turned up a gulch, pushing the cubs before her. But the youngsters were interested in the pack-animals and, standing still, forgot everything in their eager watching. The mother went from one to the other, pushing them forward. The instant she left one, the cub stopped and turned to look back in eager curiosity at the strange sight across the cañon. Without any show of temper the mother pushed one ahead a few yards and then returned to the other and urged it forward.

      The mother protects her cubs at any cost. Many a grizzly mother has died in defense of her offspring, and I do not know of an instance of a mother’s running away when her cubs were exposed to danger.

      At Grand Lake, Colorado, one June day, I went with a trapper on his rounds, thinking that he might have trapped a grizzly. He had a cub trapped by a fore paw. As we approached the spot, I chanced to climb over a pile of fallen timber and from the top of this I saw Mother Grizzly lying in wait a short distance in front of the cub. She had dug out a place behind a log and was lying there concealed, unmistakably waiting for the trapper.

      One morning late in May, while I stood behind a tree watching two young beaver at play in the pond, a small grizzly cub, of the same brown color as the beaver, walked out to the end of a log that lay partly in the water. He was interested in the beaver. Reaching down, he touched the water with right fore paw, whimpered, but hesitated about going in. While he stood looking trustingly at them, the beaver, who had been watching him, dived into the pond.

      Cubs as well as human children sometimes become separated and lost from even the most watchful of mothers. This little cub was so thin and weak that he must have been lost for some days. In the woods a trace of snow that had fallen a day or two before still lingered. This enabled me to back-track the cub to where he had probably spent a part of the night, about a quarter of a mile up stream from the pond. His tracks showed that he had wandered much.

      If I left the cub in the woods it appeared improbable that his mother would find him before he starved, and it was unlikely that I should find her, even though I continued the dangerous business of searching for her. I caught the cub without effort, and, after a few feeble attempts to scratch and bite me, he calmed down, licked my hand, and then began to suck a raisin which I handed him from my pocket. He was a tiny little fellow and could not have weighed more than nine or ten pounds. I carried him to the nearest ranch. The children were glad to have him, and a letter from them some months afterwards told me that “Maverick” was happy in his new home.

      From a tree-top perch I once had a good glimpse of bear life, as a mother grizzly with two young cubs stopped by a tree to dig out mice. In the midst of her digging mother grizzly caught a faint scent of me and instantly was all concentration. On tiptoe, motionless as a statue, she stood looking, listening, and gathering information with her nostrils. Then she relaxed, dropped on all fours, and for a moment seemed uncertain as to her next move. One of the cubs concluded to suckle. Instantly the mother knocked him headlong with a side swing of her left fore paw. Such thoughtlessness in the face of possible danger was evidently too much to be excused.

      The little cub landed some yards away, tumbling heels over head. He showed no surprise, in fact pretended that this was a part of his plan. The instant he rolled on his feet he sniffed the earth eagerly as though he had made a remarkable discovery and started to dig. Without uncovering a thing he presently raced away to overtake mother and the other cub.

      Cubs appear to depend upon mother’s milk until they are about six months of age. Before this time they may eat a little solid food now and then, but this is done more out of curiosity and in imitation of mother than from desire. It is likely to be July before they do even this and late August before they eat solid things with any regularity. They are not likely to be weaned until just before denning-up time. The Indians in Alaska told me that sometimes the cubs are not weaned until the second autumn of their lives. This certainly is sometimes true, but I think it peculiar to Alaska.

      Comical and cunning the cubs appear as they mimic the mother. When she stands up with fore paws against her breast, looking intently into the distance, the cubs stand up with their paws upon their breasts and look in the same direction. When mother turns or sniffs, these cunning little imitators also turn and sniff. The cubs walk up to a spot where the mother has been sniffing and digging and there sniff and dig. If mother continues digging rather long, they find a place of their own and dig. If mother reaches up and pulls down a fruit-laden limb and takes a bite, they too must pull down a twig of some kind and at least look at it.

      Around the shores of Chickadee Pond a mother grizzly and her two cubs spent a July day digging out grass roots, willow roots, and probably also grubs. I watched them for hours. Occasionally one took a mouthful of grass or a bite of blue mertensia. After a while mother waded into the pond; cubs of course followed.

      The large yellow pond-lilies were in bloom, and mother went about biting off stalk after stalk, apparently forgetting the cubs. One of them grabbed a lily stem and bit two or three times without cutting it. Finally, leaning back, he pulled it apart. He chewed it a little but didn’t seem to enjoy it. Then, holding the lily in one paw, he thrust the great golden bulb into his mouth and ate it with apparent satisfaction. The other little cub after much tugging finally uprooted a lily. He chewed at the four-foot stalk in three or four places. Then, taking the bulb in both fore paws, he ate it as though it were an apple.

      It is ever a joy to watch a grizzly and her children. A mother grizzly crossing a lake just south of Long’s Peak swam low in the water with a cub sitting contentedly on her back. She came directly towards the shore where I was standing concealed behind trees. As she approached I threw a stone into the water close to her. Wheeling about like lightning, Mother Grizzly started at full speed for the farther shore. The cub tipped over in the water, but hastily took a tail-hold and was towed rapidly away.

      I once saw a grizzly and cub walking leisurely along the top of a ridge above timber-line, the cub with long strides following in mother’s footprints. There were perhaps six or more inches of snow. I sat still. They were coming almost towards me. Watching carefully with my glass, I noticed that the cub was limping. He suddenly sat down and bawled. The mother, after walking on several steps, turned to look at the cub, who was holding his hind foot between his fore paws and examining his hurt. I heard him whimper two or three times, and finally mother went back. She looked down at the bottom of the foot rather indifferently, then turned and walked on. The cub followed after.

      When they passed near me the mother rose suddenly on hind legs, stood with fore paws held against her chest, and looked and looked, and sniffed and sniffed. Little cub, forgetting his sore hind foot, stood up with little paws against his breast, stretched his neck, looked, and sniffed—a perfect little imitation of the mother. She moved off several steps and stopped on the very edge of a precipitous ridge to scout. The cub placed his fore paws against mother’s side and from this secure position peeped over and beyond her. But they did not detect me and soon went leisurely on.

      Two miles farther I crept as close as I could and paused to watch. The mother was digging, the cub watching eagerly. As her digging continued for some time, he moved away, sniffed two or three times, and then began digging rapidly on