A PROVIDENTIAL SPARK
By WILLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON
IF there is any one incident in my past life that I particularly dislike to dwell upon, it is the night I spent in a lonely mountain cabin in Northwestern Arizona.
I had left the little mining settlement of San Rosa early that morning to visit a ranch belonging to a friend of mine that lay some ten or twelve miles to the westward.
I had never been there before, but from the directions given me, I felt sure I could find the place without difficulty.
I had to cross two or three mountain spurs, and pass through a couple of deep ravines to reach the high stretch of table land where the ranch was located.
I am fond of sport, and to this must be attributed the adventure which placed me in such peril. At sunrise I was four or five miles on my way, and while riding through a deep wooded hollow, I discovered bear tracks in a bit of soft ground, which had the appearance of being fresh.
Here was a temptation too great to be resisted, and, hoping to obtain a shot at Bruin, I followed the trail up the side of the ridge. The footprints which were too small to be those of a grizzly, soon vanished, of course, but I rode on over the hilltop and down into the ravine beyond, eager to get a glimpse of the animal.