In warning or threatening an enemy, the sloth bear says: "Ach! Ach! Ach!" and the grizzly says: "Woof! Woof!" A fighting bear says: "Aw-aw-aw!" A baby's call for its mother is "Row! Row!" A bear's distress call is: "Err-_wow_-oo-oo-oof!" But even in a zoological park it is not possible for everyone to recognize and interpret the different cries of bears, although the ability to do so is sometimes of value to the party of the second part. For example: One day in February I was sitting in my old office in the Service Building, engrossed in I know not what important and solemn matter. The park was quiet; for the snow lay nine inches deep over all. There were no visitors, and the maintenance men were silently shovelling. Over the hill from the bear dens came the voice of a bear. It said, as plainly as print: "Err-wow!" I said to myself: "That sounds like a distress call," and listened to hear it repeated. Again it came: "Err-wow!" I caught up my hat and hastened over the hill toward the bear dens. On the broad concrete walk, about a hundred feet from the dens, four men were industriously shovelling snow, unaware that anything was wrong anywhere except on the pay-roll, opposite their names. Guided by the cries that came from "The Nursery" den, where six yearling cubs were kept, I quickly caught sight of the trouble. One of our park-born brown bear cubs was hanging fast by one forefoot from the top of the barred partition. He had climbed to the top of the ironwork, thrust one front paw through between two of the bars (for bears are the greatest busybodies on earth), and when he sought to withdraw it, the sharp point of a bar in the overhang of the tree-guard had buried itself in the back of his paw, and held him fast. It seemed as if his leg was broken, and also dislocated at the shoulder. No wonder the poor little chap squalled for help. His mother, on the other side of the partition, was almost frantic with baffled sympathy, for she could do nothing to help him. It did not take more than a quarter of a minute to have several men running for crowbars and other things, and within five minutes from the discovery we were in the den ready for action. The little chap gave two or three cries to let us know how badly it hurt his leg to hang there, then bent his small mind upon rendering us assistance. First we lifted him up bodily, and held him, to remove the strain. Then, by good luck, we had at hand a stout iron bar with a U- shaped end; and with that under the injured wrist, and a crowbar to spring the treacherous overhang, we lifted the foot clear, and lowered little Brownie to the floor. From first to last he helped us all he could, and seemed to realize that it was clearly "no fair" to bite or scratch. Fortunately the leg was neither broken nor dislocated, and although Brownie limped for ten days, he soon was all right again.