While the bear was recuperating and becoming reconciled to what couldn't be helped, a cage was being built of Oregon pine lumber with an iron-barred door, and when it was finished he was dragged into it by the heels. As soon as he saw the ropes, Monarch knew that mischief was afoot, and when a man began throwing back into the hole the dirt that he had dug out, he mounted the heap and silently but strenuously began to dig for himself a new hole. He worked twice as fast as two men with shovels, and in his efforts to escape he only assisted in filling up the old hole. For some time he baffled all attempts to get ropes on his forepaws, having learned the trick of throwing them off and seizing the loops with his teeth, but he was soon secured and stretched out on his back. The Monarch roared his remonstrances and did his best to get even for the outrages that had been done to his rights and his feelings, but the ropes were tough and he could not get a chance to use his enormous strength. He was dragged on his back into the cage, the door was dropped and the ropes were removed, but the chain remained around his neck and that was made fast to the bars. As soon as he found himself shut up in a box the angry and insulted bear ceased roaring and in a short time he philosophically stretched himself on the floor and wondered what would happen next. The next thing that happened to him was the standing of his cage on end, but that did not appear to disturb him. A wagon was backed up, and the cage was tilted down again and placed upon the wagon, which was then hauled down the canyon and along the river bed to a little water station on the Southern Pacific Railroad, where the cage was put upon a stock car. The car was provisioned with a quarter of beef, and a lot of watermelons, and attached to a freight train, then men who had helped to bring the bear out of the mountains waved their hats, and the Monarch caught a last glimpse of his native hills as the train whirled him and the correspondent northward. It must have been a very strange, perhaps terrifying, thing to the wild grizzly to be jolted along for two days on a rattling, bumping, lurching freight train, with the shrieking of steam whistles and the ringing of bells, but he endured it all heroically and gave no sign of fear. He ate well when food was given him, taking meat from his captor's hands through the bars, and slept soundly when he was tired. He seemed to know and yield a sort of obedience to the correspondent, but resented with menacing growls the impertinent curiosity of strangers who came to look at him through the bars.