When in a trap or cornered, a wounded grizzly sometimes feigns death. Apparently he considers his situation desperate and sees in this method the possibility of throwing his assailant off guard. Considering that need of feigning death is recent,—since the arrival of the white man with high-power rifle and insidious steel trap,—this strategy appears like a clear case of reasoning.
The grizzly is difficult to anticipate. His strategy usually defeats the hunter. One wounded bear may at once charge the hunter; the next may run from him; and the third may hold the ground defiantly. The grizzly meets what to us seem identical situations in unlike manner, and makes sudden changes in his habits without our seeing the cause for such changes. Quickly he makes the acquaintance of the new and promptly adjusts himself to it. If it is dangerous he avoids it, if advantageous he uses it.
Often in traveling to a distant place the grizzly goes on the run, but just as often he goes at slower speed. If plodding slowly, he conveys the impression of deliberating. He often appears to be thinking, and probably is. Though shuffling along, he is bound for a definite place with the intention of doing a definite thing. Suddenly he changes his mind and goes off in the opposite direction.
I have seen a bear hustling along, with his mind apparently made up; he is in a hurry to carry out some plan, to reach a given place, or see some particular thing. All at once he notices where he is and stops. He remembers that he intended to look at such and such a thing on the way but has neglected to do so. He hesitates a few moments, then goes back.
On rare occasions the grizzly walks along, perhaps in bountiful summer, thinking of nothing in particular, with head swinging slowly from side to side. Something arouses him; he may promptly retreat or he may investigate. You never know what a grizzly will do next or how he will do it, but everything he does is with fresh interest and delightful individuality.
An old grizzly pursued by wolves once gave me a fearful exhibition of nature. He came running across an opening in the southern end of North Park with several wolves close in pursuit. He acted as though away from home—hard pressed, bewildered, and in a strange territory. The wolves were crowding him closely as he reached the edge of the woods. With a sudden move he wheeled and struck at the one in the lead. Instantly the others were around him, snarling and snapping. The grizzly wheeled and struck quickly to right and left, striking outward and downward somewhat after the fashion of a cat striking at a near-by object. Then he turned and ran on.
A few miles farther on he again crossed an opening. Fresh wolves were now in pursuit. I saw several of the pack lying down, panting and resting. The grizzly had no rest, he was hard pressed. At one place, closely crowded, he backed up in the corner of a cliff and here put up such a fight that he drove the wolves off for the time being. He killed one and badly injured two of them. Towards evening he took refuge in a denlike place for which he evidently had been heading. The following morning a number of the wolves were gone, but the others were waiting for the grizzly in front of the den.
A grizzly with three feet managed to maintain himself in a territory near my home, and I twice heard of his outwitting hunters and their hounds. The territory was occasionally invaded by trappers but he avoided their snares. Hunters with dogs finally drove him off his domain. Where he went, what struggles he had, what masterly retreats he made, what troubles he had in making a living, and what his final tragic end, I do not know. That he survived so long with one foot gone indicates that he was a bear of powers, a bear with a career, whose biography or autobiography would be full of action and adventure.
It cannot be stated too strongly that the grizzly is not a coward. Every drop of blood in his body is courageous. He has no fear. He is intelligent enough to know that man is a dangerous enemy—that it is almost suicidal for a bear to expose himself to man. There is no animal of the wilds whom he avoids. Man, with field-glasses, dogs, and a rifle that will kill at the distance of a mile, are odds too great for him. He wisely endeavors to avoid man, but if he cannot do so, when the fight comes he exhibits one hundred per cent of courage and efficiency.
Only a few generations ago the grizzly was instinctively courageous, never avoiding a foe; with courage he met every issue, almost invariably coming out triumphant. But when man is the issue, the grizzly, seeing more than one move ahead, has the wisdom and the greater courage to suppress the old instinctive trait, for its use would be ineffective.