Under the great pines the evening was still with the silence of primeval desolation.

The sense of sadness and loneliness, the melancholy of the wilderness, came over me like a spell.
Every slight noise made my pulses throb as I lay motionless on the rock gazing intently into the gathering gloom.

I began to fear that it would grow too dark to shoot before the grisly came.
Suddenly and without warning, the great bear stepped out of the bushes and trod across the pine needles with such swift and silent footsteps that its bulk seemed unreal.

It was very cautious, continually halting to peer around; and once it stood up on its hind legs and looked long down the valley towards the red west.

As it reached the carcass I put a bullet between its shoulders.