One day, in a break in the monsoon, when the game lies much out of the forest, I was out in the mountains with my manager for a general stalk, when we saw, some way ahead of us, a bear walking along. We quickly formed a plan of operation, and it was arranged that I should make a circuit and get between the bear and a jungly ravine he appeared to be making for, and that my manager should follow on the track of the bear, which would thus be pretty certain to be overhauled. The bear was pottering along as bears do, and I had no difficulty in getting between him and the jungle he was approaching, and the moment I did so I advanced a little towards him. When the bear got within shooting distance--about fifty yards--I stooped down and moved a little on one side so as to get off his direct line, with the view of getting a side shot, but just as I did so he accidentally altered his route, thus bringing himself again head on to me. Then I manoeuvred again to get out of his line, but the bear also altered his line, and as by this time he was getting rather too close--i.e., about ten yards off--I stood up and took a steady shot at his head and dropped him dead. Now, strange to say, I do not believe that the bear ever saw me at all, and he could not wind me, as the south-westerly wind was blowing strongly from him to me, and yet, as the grass at that season was by no means long, he had no more difficulty in seeing me than I had in seeing him, and he probably would have walked right up to me. This instance is, I think, interesting, and goes far to explain the numerous accidents in connection with bears. Still there can be no doubt that, as Colonel Peyton says, an unwounded and untouched bear will deliberately attack people when there is no occasion for his doing so, and that too, under circumstances where no other animal would make an attack, and of this the following little incident will serve as an illustration.