There was no particular reason why it should have charged, for it was fat and in good trim, though when killed its head showed scars made by the teeth of rival grislies.  Apparently it had been living so well, principally on flesh, that it had become quarrelsome; and perhaps its not over sweet disposition had been soured by combats with others of its own kind.  In yet another case, a grisly charged with even less excuse.  An old trapper, from whom I occasionally bought fur, was toiling up a mountain pass when he spied a big bear sitting on his haunches on the hill-side above.  The trapper shouted and waved his cap; whereupon, to his amazement, the bear uttered a loud “wough” and charged straight down on him—­only to fall a victim to misplaced boldness.

I am even inclined to think that there have been wholly exceptional occasions when a grisly has attacked a man with the deliberate purpose of making a meal of him; when, in other words, it has started on the career of a man-eater.  At least, on any other theory I find it difficult to account for an attack which once came to my knowledge.  I was at Sand point, on Pend’Oreille Lake, and met some French and Meti trappers, then in town with their bales of beaver, otter, and sable.  One of them, who gave his name as Baptiste Lamoche, had his head twisted over to one side, the result of the bite of a bear.  When the accident occurred he was out on a trapping trip with two companions.  They had pitched camp right on the shore of a cove in a little lake, and his comrades were off fishing in a dugout or pirogue.  He himself was sitting near the shore, by a little lean-to, watching some beaver meat which was sizzling over the dying embers.  Suddenly, and without warning, a great bear, which had crept silently up beneath the shadows of the tall evergreens, rushed at him, with a guttural roar, and seized him before he could rise to his feet.  It grasped him with its jaws at the junction of the neck and shoulder, making the teeth meet through bone, sinew, and muscle; and turning, tracked off towards the forest, dragging with it the helpless and paralyzed victim.  Luckily the two men in the canoe had just paddled round the point, in sight of, and close to, camp.  The man in the bow, seeing the plight of their comrade, seized his rifle and fired at the bear.  The bullet went through the beast’s lungs, and it forthwith dropped its prey, and running off some two hundred yards, lay down on its side and died.  The rescued man recovered full health and strength, but never again carried his head straight.

Old hunters and mountain-men tell many stories, not only of malicious grislies thus attacking men in camp, but also of their even dogging the footsteps of some solitary hunter and killing him when the favorable opportunity occurs.  Most of these tales are mere fables; but it is possible that in altogether exceptional instances they rest on a foundation of fact.  One old hunter whom I knew told me such a story.  He was a truthful old fellow and there was no doubt that he believed what he said, and that his companion was actually killed by a bear; but it is probable that he was mistaken in reading the signs of his comrade’s fate, and that the latter was not dogged by the bear at all, but stumbled on him and was slain in the surprise of the moment.