“I see a grizzly as big as a house!” he announced quietly.

Bruce seldom allowed his equanimity to be disturbed, except by the pack-horses.  Thrilling news like this he always introduced as unconcernedly as though speaking of a bunch of violets.

Langdon sat up with a jerk.

“Where?” he demanded.

He leaned over to get the range of the other’s telescope, every nerve in his body suddenly aquiver.

“See that slope on the second shoulder, just beyond the ravine over there?” said Bruce, with one eye closed and the other still glued to the telescope.  “He’s halfway up, digging out a gopher.”

Langdon focussed his glass on the slope, and a moment later an excited gasp came from him.

“See ’im?” asked Bruce.

“The glass has pulled him within four feet of my nose,” replied Langdon.  “Bruce, that’s the biggest grizzly in the Rocky Mountains!”

“If he ain’t, he’s his twin brother,” chuckled the packer, without moving a muscle.  “He beats your eight-footer by a dozen inches, Jimmy!  An’”—­he paused at this psychological moment to pull a plug of black MacDonald from his pocket and bite off a mouthful, without taking the telescope from his eye—­“an’ the wind is in our favour an’ he’s as busy as a flea!” he finished.

Otto unwound himself and rose to his feet, and Langdon jumped up briskly.  In such situations as this there was a mutual understanding between them which made words unnecessary.  They led the eight horses back into the edge of the timber and tied them there, took their rifles from the leather holsters, and each was careful to put a sixth cartridge in the chamber of his weapon.  Then for a matter of two minutes they both studied the slope and its approaches with their naked eyes.

“We can slip up the ravine,” suggested Langdon.

Bruce nodded.

“I reckon it’s a three-hundred-yard shot from there,” he said.  “It’s the best we can do.  He’d get our wind if we went below ’im.  If it was a couple o’ hours earlier—­”

“We’d climb over the mountain and come down on him from above!” exclaimed Langdon, laughing.

“Bruce, you’re the most senseless idiot on the face of the globe when it comes to climbing mountains!  You’d climb over Hardesty or Geikie to shoot a goat from above, even though you could get him from the valley without any work at all.  I’m glad it isn’t morning.  We can get that bear from the ravine!”

“Mebbe,” said Bruce, and they started.

They walked openly over the green, flower-carpeted meadows ahead of them.  Until they came within at least half a mile of the grizzly there was no danger of him seeing them.  The wind had shifted, and was almost in their faces.  Their swift walk changed to a dog-trot, and they swung in nearer to the slope, so that for fifteen minutes a huge knoll concealed the grizzly.  In another ten minutes they came to the ravine, a narrow, rock-littered and precipitous gully worn in the mountainside by centuries of spring floods gushing down from the snow-peaks above.  Here they made cautious observation.