For some minutes I followed the trail; and then, topping a ridge, I saw the dark bulk lying motionless in a snow drift at the foot of a low rock-wall, from which he had tumbled.
The usual practice of the still-hunter who is after grisly is to toll it to baits.

The hunter either lies in ambush near the carcass, or approaches it stealthily when he thinks the bear is at its meal.
One day while camped near the Bitter Root Mountains in Montana I found that a bear had been feeding on the carcass of a moose which lay some five miles from the little open glade in which my tent was pitched, and I made up my mind to try to get a shot at it that afternoon.

I stayed in camp till about three o'clock, lying lazily back on the bed of sweet-smelling evergreen boughs, watching the pack ponies as they stood under the pines on the edge of the open, stamping now and then, and switching their tails.

The air was still, the sky a glorious blue; at that hour in the afternoon even the September sun was hot.

The smoke from the smouldering logs of the camp fire curled thinly upwards.