which I found myself on crossing the long winding
path, deeply furrowed and full of loose
stones, a sign that in wet weather it is on each
slope the bed of a very respectable torrent,
which leads from the valley of Münster into the
wild gorge of Ofen. I had been on foot since
early morning, and the evening was already
closing in, with black threatening clouds. It
was clearly high time to think of quarters for
the night. They told me at Münster that I
would find a châlet at Ofen; but by this time I
had descended the western slope of the mountain
wall which divides the two valleys, traversed a
marshy plain, and reached the skirt of a dense
forest, without meeting a living creature
(except a herdsman chasing some straggling goats
high up among the rocks, beyond the reach of
parley), and without discovering even in the
distance any trace of human habitation. The
light of day still lingered, but I knew the
darkness would drop down suddenly like a lid.
Before it fell, therefore, I took the precaution of
referring for guidance to the pages of my trusty
Berlepsch.

Berlepsch was not reassuring. The little
hostelry of which I was in search was still some
distance off, and the peculiarities of the route
thither were summed up in this pithy sentence:
"Toujours des forêts, ou se cachent les ours."
This Berlepsch was a Job's comforter. Brigands
would not have surprised me, but bears! Who
would have thought of bears in Central Europe
at this time of day? Still there was the warning
in black and white; and more than that, the
valley of Buotsch, which I saw opening upon the
left, was also described as a famous haunt of
Master Bruin. To add to the interest of the
situation, just then the last gleam of light faded
from the sky; and, buckling my knapsack more
tightly to my back, grasping my staff with a
resolute air, I started to explore the forest in
the dark. The trees stood so thickly together
that the path seemed to be hewn out of some
solid black substance, and to be shut in between
straight lofty walls of ebony, while the cloudy
heavens overhead supplied a cover of only a
shade less pitchy hue. As a philosopher, I
deemed it well not to admit to myself the existence
of bears in that quarter, as even a
possibility; but I don't mind confessing that in spite
of mental adherence to that first principle, I
started once or twice at a rustle among the
pines, and, coming suddenly at a bend in the
road on a big black something stretched across
it, I tried to dodge past it in some trepidation,
till I was close enough to identify it as only a
log of wood. It was not my fate, however, to
fight that day with bears or beasts of any sort.
Alter more than an hour's walk a light twinkled
below me through the trees, and the yelping of
curs told me that I was near the home of man.
A strong square low building of undressed
stone, with loopholed windows and iron-bound
door, stood before me. In answer to my knock,
a gruff voice cried, "Kommherein," and, entering,
I found myself in a dim half-lit chamber. Five
or six children were seated round a wooden
table, to whom a stout burly man, with grizzled
beard and up-rolled sleeves, was ladling out
soup. I was soon seated at the board, with a
steaming platter before me like the rest. More
substantial fare followed, with a bottle of very
good Grison wine, and soon after I was fast
asleep in a little room under the roof, dreaming
of a terrific hand to hand combat with half a
dozen bears.

Next morning my host, with Swiss politeness,
came to keep me company at breakfast. "How
about the bears?" I asked; " were there really
any hereabouts?"

"Oh yes," he said; "Master Petz gives us a
look in now and then, but he has grown very shy
of late. Once I shot a tremendous fellow within
a stone's throw of where we are. That was
three or four years ago. For some time
continual ravages had been committed among
the flocks of the neighbouring valleys. Each
week two or three goats or sheep were missing;
but in the valley of Forn we were left for a
while at peace. At length our turn came, and
we tried in vain to trace the despoiler. One
day I was taking a nap after dinner. We had
had the 'fon' very bad; you know what that is,
I suppose sir? the hot blast which blows now
and again, scorching up the vegetation, and
making man and beast feel weak and languid. My
maid awoke me, rushing in with a cry of alarm.
'Oh, master, there's something the matter
with the goats; they are running home like
mad.' I was so sleepy and tired, I put her off
by saying, 'Oh, it's only a fox; never mind it.'
But the goats, which had halted for a few minutes
on the brow of the slope over there—you can
see it from the window—all huddled together,
and gazing anxiously behind them, suddenly
broke into another run, and came scampering
pell-mell down the bank. When the maid told
me this, I knew there was something at hand
worse than a fox. So, shouldering my Büchse,
I set off to reconnoitre. At first I went very
cautiously, prying about everywhere. I saw
the footprints of some large beast, but they
crossed and recrossed so often I could not make
out the trail. Then the gathering dusk warned
me to be home, and so, giving up the chase, I
turned back. As I was going along, never
dreaming but what old Petz had made his escape,
I saw a huge black mass crouching beside a
rock. Instinctively I took aim and tired. The
creature gave a loud growl, rose on its hind legs
as if to spring on me, for I was quite near
before I observed it, and then fell flat on its
face stone dead. My bullet had reached the
heart. It was a large brown bear, and weighed
five hundred pounds."

"Have you been much troubled by bears
since then?"

"No, not much. But every year we lose a
goat or two, which we suppose goes into Master
Brown's paunch, and we see his footprints
occasionally in the snow. But if you want to hear
all about the bears, you should go to Jacob Fili,
of Zernetz. He's the man to tackle old Petz.
Why, he has shot more than a dozen of them."