“The two big ones are silver tips?” he asked.
“Sure,” said Mills. “Want to pat one?”
“No, thanks.”
“I must say, bears are dirty animals, if this is what they eat,” Mrs. Jones put in, sniffing. “I don’t think I like them so near me.”
“I’m sure I don’t,” Mr. Elkins laughed. “Of course, I know these are tame, and all that, but—well, it’s like the dog the man said wouldn’t bite. ‘I know it, and you know it,’ said the other fellow, ‘but does the dog know it?’”
Just then the big grizzly nearest them, which was standing on his hind legs, gave a low, snarling growl, as if he was mad at being disturbed at supper, and Mrs. Jones announced determinedly that she was going back.
And she went. Joe, Bob, and the girls wanted to linger, but the older people called them, and they had to go.
“Well, that wasn’t very exciting!” Bob complained. “Gee, you could have patted ’em, ’most. I wanted to see you shoot one, Mr. Mills.”
“I’d as soon shoot a cow as a tame bear,” the Ranger told him. “You can’t shoot anything but lions and coyotes in the Park, and only Rangers can shoot them. We’re protecting game here, not killing it.”
“Wouldn’t you kill a bear if it came for you?”