Chapter V: Front Matter (5)

The dismal story of the extermination of the buffalo for its hides has been so often told, that I may be spared the sickening details of the butchery which was carried on from the Mexican to the British boundary line in the struggle to obtain a few dollars by a most ignoble means. As soon as railroads penetrated the buffalo country, a market was opened for the hides. Men too lazy to work were not too lazy to hunt, and a good hunter could kill in the early days from thirty to seventy-five buffalo a day, the hides of which were worth from $1.50 to $4 each. This seemed an easy way to make money, and the market for hides was unlimited. Up to this time the trade in robes had been mainly confined to those dressed by the Indians, and these were for the most part taken from cows. The coming of the railroad made hides of all sorts marketable, and even those taken from naked old bulls found a sale at some price. The butchery of buffalo was now something stupendous. Thousands of hunters followed millions of buffalo and destroyed them wherever found and at all seasons of the year. They pursued them during the day, and at night camped at the watering-places, and built lines of fires along the streams, to drive the buffalo back so that they could not drink. It took less than six years to destroy all the buffalo in Kansas, Nebraska, Indian Territory, and northern Texas. The few that were left of the southern herd retreated to the waterless plains of Texas, and there for a while had a brief respite. Even here the hunters followed them, but as the animals were few and the territory in which they ranged vast, they held out here for some years. It was in this country, and against the last survivors of this southern herd, that "Buffalo Jones" made his successful trips to capture calves.

The extirpation of the northern herd was longer delayed. No very terrible slaughter occurred until the completion of the Northern Pacific Railroad; then, however, the same scenes of butchery were enacted. Buffalo were shot down by tens of thousands, their hides stripped off, and the meat left to the wolves. The result of the crusade was soon seen, and the last buffalo were killed in the Northwest near the boundary line in 1883, and that year may be said to have finished up the species, though some few were killed in 1884 to 1885.

After the slaughter had been begun, but years before it had been accomplished, the subject was brought to the attention of Congress, and legislation looking to the preservation of the species was urged upon that body. Little general interest was taken in the subject, but in 1874, after much discussion, Congress did pass an act providing for the protection of the buffalo. The bill, however, was never signed by the President.

During the last days of the buffalo, a remarkable change took place in its form, and this change is worthy of consideration by naturalists, for it is an example of specialization--of development in one particular direction--which was due to a change in the environment of the species, and is interesting because it was brought about in a very few years, and indicates how rapidly, under favoring conditions, such specialization may sometimes take place.

This change was noticed and commented on by hunters who followed the northern buffalo, as well as by those who assisted in the extermination of the southern herd. The southern hunters, however, averred that the "regular" buffalo had disappeared--gone off somewhere--and that their place had been taken by what they called the southern buffalo, a race said to have come up from Mexico, and characterized by longer legs and a longer, lighter body than the buffalo of earlier years, and which was also peculiar in that the animals never became fat. Intelligent hunters of the northern herd, however, recognized the true state of the case, which was that the buffalo, during the last years of their existence, were so constantly pursued and driven from place to place that they never had time to lay on fat as in earlier years, and that, as a consequence of this continual running, the animal's form changed, and instead of a fat, short-backed, short-legged animal, it became a long-legged, light-bodied beast, formed for running.

This specialization in the direction of speed at first proceeded very slowly, but at last, as the dangers to which the animals were subjected became more and more pressing, it took place rapidly, and as a consequence the last buffalo killed on the plains were extremely long-legged and rangy, and were very different in appearance--as they were in their habits--from the animals of twenty years ago.

Buffalo running was not a sport that required much skill, yet it was not without its dangers. Occasionally a man was killed by the buffalo, but deaths from falls and from bursting guns were more common. Many curious stories of such accidents are told by the few surviving old-timers whose memory goes back fifty years, to the time when flint-lock guns were in use. A mere fall from a horse is lightly regarded by the practised rider; the danger to be feared is that in such a fall the horse may roll on the man and crush him. Even more serious accidents occurred when a man fell upon some part of his equipment, which was driven through his body. Hunters have fallen in such a way that their whip-stocks, arrows, bows, and even guns, have been driven through their bodies. The old flint-lock guns, or "fukes," which were loaded on the run, with powder poured in from the horn by guess, and a ball from the mouth, used frequently to burst, causing the loss of hands, arms, and even lives.

From Scribner's Magazine.]

While most of the deaths which occurred in the chase resulted from causes other than the resistance of the buffalo, these did occasionally kill a man. A curious accident happened in a camp of Red River half-breeds in the early seventies. The son of an Iroquois half-breed, about twenty years old, went out one day with the rest of the camp to run buffalo. At night he did not return, and the next day all the men went out to search for him. They found the horse and the arms, but could not find the man, and could not imagine what had become of him. About a year later, as the half-breeds were hunting in another part of the country, a cow was seen which had something unusual on her head. They chased and killed her, and found that she had on her head the pelvis of a man, one of the horns having pierced the thin part of the bone, which was wedged on so tightly that they could hardly get it off. Much of the hair on the head, neck, and shoulders of the cow was worn off short, and on the side on which the bone was, down on the neck and shoulders, the hair was short, black, and looked new, as if it had been worn entirely off the skin, and was just beginning to grow out again. It is supposed that this bone was part of the missing young man, who had been hooked by the cow, and carried about on her head until his body fell to pieces.

My old and valued friend Charles Reynolds, for years chief of scouts at Fort Lincoln, Dakota, and who was killed by the Sioux in the Custer fight in 1876, told me of the death of a hunting partner of his, which shows how dangerous even a dying buffalo may be. The two men had started from the railroad to go south and bring in a load of meat. On finding a bunch of buffalo, they shot down by stalking what they required, and then on foot went up to the animals to skin them. One cow, lying on her side, was still moving a little convulsively, but dying. The man approached her as if about to cut her throat, but when he was within a few feet of her head, she sprang to her feet, rushed at him, struck him in the chest with her horns, and then fell dead. Charley ran up to his partner, and to his horror saw that the cow's horn had ripped him up from the belly to the throat, so that he could see the heart still expanding and contracting.

Charley buried his partner there, and returning to the town, told his story. He was at once arrested on the charge that he had murdered his companion, and was obliged to return to the place and to assist in digging up the body to satisfy the suspicious officials of the truth of his statements.

In the early days, when the game was plenty, buffalo-running was exhilarating sport. Given a good horse, the only other requisite to success was the ability to remain on his back till the end of the chase. No greater degree of skill was needed than this, and yet the quick motion of the horse, the rough ground to be traversed, and the feeling that there was something ahead that must be overtaken and stopped, made the ride attractive. There was the very slightest spice of danger; for while no one anticipated a serious accident, it was always possible that one's horse might step into a badger-hole, in which case his rider would get a fall that would make his bones ache.

The most exciting, and by far the most interesting, hunts in which I ever took part were those with the Indians of the plains. They were conducted almost noiselessly, and no ring of rifle-shot broke the stillness of the air, nor puff of smoke rose toward the still, gray autumn sky. The consummate grace and skill of the naked Indians, and the speed and quickness of their splendid ponies, were well displayed in such chases as these. More than one instance is recorded where an Indian sent an arrow entirely through the bodies of two buffalo. Sometimes such a hunt was signalized by some feat of daring bravado that, save in the seeing, was scarcely credible, as when the Cheyenne Big Ribs rode his horse close up to the side of a huge bull, and, springing on his back, rode the savage beast for some distance, and then with his knife gave him the death-stroke. Or a man might find himself in a position of comical danger, as did "The Trader" who was thrown from his horse on to the horns of a bull without being injured. One of the horns passed under his belt and supported him, and at the same time prevented the bull from tossing him. In this way he was carried for some distance on the animal's head, when the belt gave way and he fell to the ground unhurt, while the bull ran on. There were occasions when buffalo or horses fell in front of horsemen riding at full run, and when a fall was avoided only by leaping one's horse over the fallen animal. In the buffalo chase of old days it was well for a man to keep his wits about him; for, though he might run buffalo a thousand times without accident, the moment might come when only instant action would save him his life, or at least an ugly hurt.

In the early days of the first Pacific Railroad, and before the herds had been driven back from the track, singular hunting-parties were sometimes seen on the buffalo range. These hunters were capitalists connected with the newly constructed road, and some of them now for the first time bestrode a horse, while few had ever used firearms. On such a hunt, one well-known railroad director, eager to kill a buffalo, declined to trust himself on horseback, preferring to bounce over the rough prairie in an ambulance driven by an alarmed soldier, who gave less attention to the mules he was guiding than to the loaded and cocked pistol which his excited passenger was brandishing. These were amusing excursions, where a merry party of pleasant officers from a frontier post, and their guests, a jolly crowd of merchants, brokers, and railroad men from the East, started out to have a buffalo-hunt. With them went the post guide and a scout or two, an escort of soldiers, and the great blue army-wagons, under whose white tilts were piled all the comforts that the post could furnish--unlimited food and drink, and many sacks of forage for the animals. Here all was mirth and jest and good-fellowship, and, except that canvas covered them while they slept, the hunters lived in as much comfort as when at home. The killing of buffalo was to them only an excuse for their jolly outing amid novel scenes.

It was on the plains of Montana, in the days when buffalo were still abundant, that I had one of my last buffalo-hunts--a hunt with a serious purpose. A company of fifty or more men, who for weeks had been living on bacon and beans, longed for the "boss ribs" of fat cow, and when we struck the buffalo range two of us were deputed to kill some meat. My companion was an old prairie-man of great experience, and I myself was not altogether new to the West, for I had hunted in many territories, and had more than once been "jumped" by hostile Indians. Our horses were not buffalo-runners, yet we felt a certain confidence that if we could find a bunch and get a good start on them, we would bring in the desired meat. The troops would march during the day, for the commanding officer had no notion of waiting in camp merely for fresh meat, and we were to go out, hunt, and overtake the command at their night's camp.

The next day after we had reached the buffalo range, we started out long before the eastern sky was gray, and were soon riding off over the chilly prairie. The trail which the command was to follow ran a little north of east, and we kept to the south and away from it, believing that in this direction we would find the game, and that if we started them they would run north or northwest--against the wind, so that we could kill them near the trail. Until some time after the sun had risen, we saw nothing larger than antelope; but at length, from the top of a high hill, we could see, far away to the east, dark dots on the prairie, which we knew could only be buffalo. They were undisturbed too; for, though we watched them for some time, we could detect no motion in their ranks.

It took us nearly two hours to reach the low, broken buttes on the north side of which the buffalo were; and, riding up on the easternmost of these, we tried to locate our game more exactly. It was important to get as close as possible before starting them, so that our first rush might carry us into the midst of them. Knowing the capabilities of our horses, which were thin from long travel, we felt sure that if the buffalo should take the alarm before we were close to them, we could not overtake the cows and young animals, which always run in the van, and should have to content ourselves with old bulls. On the other hand, if we could dash in among them during the first few hundred yards of the race, we should be able to keep up with and select the fattest animals in the herd.

When we reached a point just below the crest of the hill, I stopped and waited, while my companion rode on. Just before he got to the top he too halted, then took off his hat and peered over the ridge, examining so much of the prairie beyond as was now visible to him. His inspection was careful and thorough, and when he had made sure that nothing was in sight, his horse took a step or two forward and then stopped again, and the rider scanned every foot of country before him. The horse, trained as the real hunter's horse is always trained, understood what was required of him, and with pricked ears examined the prairie beyond with as much interest as did his rider. When the calf of Charley's right leg pressed the horse's side, two or three steps more were taken, and then a lifting of the bridle-hand caused another halt.

At length I saw my companion slowly bend forward over his horse's neck, turn, and ride back to me. He had seen the backs of two buffalo lying on the edge of a little flat hardly a quarter of a mile from where we stood. The others of the band must be still nearer to us. By riding along the lowest part of the sag which separated the two buttes, and then down a little ravine, it seemed probable that we could come within a few yards of the buffalo unobserved. Our preparations did not take long. The saddle cinches were loosened, blankets arranged, saddles put in their proper places and tightly cinched again. Cartridges were brought round to the front and right of the belt, where they would be convenient for reloading. Our coats, tied behind the saddle, were looked to, the strings which held them being tightened and securely retied. All this was not lost on our horses, which understood as well as we did what was coming. We skirted the butte, rode through the low sag and down into the little ravine, which soon grew deeper, so that our heads were below the range of vision of almost anything on the butte. Passing the mouth of the little side ravine, however, there came into full view a huge bull, lying well up on the hillside. Luckily his back was toward us, and, each bending low over his horse's neck, we rode on, and in a moment were hidden by the side of the ravine. Two or three minutes more, and we came to another side ravine, which was wide and commanded a view of the flat. We stopped before reaching this, and a peep showed that we were within a few yards of two old cows, a young heifer, and a yearling, all of them to the north of us. Beyond, we could see the backs of others, all lying down.

We jumped on our horses again, and setting the spurs well in, galloped up the ravine and up on the flat; and as we came into view, the nearest buffalo, as if propelled by a huge spring, were on their feet, and, with a second's pause to look, dashed away to the north. Scattered over the flat were fifty or seventy-five buffalo, all of which, by the time we had glanced over the field, were off, with heads bending low to the ground, and short, spiky tails stretched out behind. We were up even with the last of the cows, and our horses were running easily and seemed to have plenty of reserve power. Charley, who was a little ahead of me, called back: "They will cross the trail about a mile north of here. Kill a couple when we get to it." I nodded, and we went on. The herd raced forward over the rolling hills, and in what seemed a very short time we rushed down a long slope on to a wide flat, in which was a prairie-dog town of considerable extent. We were on the very heels of the herd, and in a cloud of dust kicked up by their rapid flight. To see the ground ahead was impossible. We could only trust to our horses and our good luck to save us from falling. Our animals were doing better than we had supposed they could, and were going well and under a pull. I felt that a touch of the spurs and a little riding would bring us up even with the leaders of the buffalo. The pace had already proved too much for several bulls, which had turned off to one side and been passed by. As we flew across the flat, I saw far off a dark line and two white objects, which I knew must be our command. I called to my comrade, and, questioning by the sign, pointed at the buffalo. He nodded, and in a moment we had given free rein to our horses and were up among the herd. During the ride I had two or three times selected my game, but the individuals of the band changed positions so constantly that I could not keep track of them. Now, however, I picked out a fat two-year-old bull; but as I drew up to him he ran faster than before, and rapidly made his way toward the head of the band. I was resolved that he should not escape, and so, though I was still fifteen or twenty yards in the rear, fired. At the shot he fell heels over head directly across a cow which was running by his side and a little behind him. I saw her turn a somersault, and almost at the same instant heard Charley shoot twice in quick succession, and saw two buffalo fall. I fired at a fat young cow that I had pushed my pony up close to. At the shot she whirled, my horse did the same, and she chased me as hard as she could go for seventy-five yards, while I did some exceedingly vigorous spurring, for she was close behind me all the time. To do my horse justice, I think that he would have run as fast as he could, even without the spurs, for he appreciated the situation. At no time was there any immediate danger that the cow would overtake us; if there had been, I should have dodged her. Presently the cow stopped, and stood there very sick. When I rode back, I did not find it easy to get my horse near her; but another shot was not needed, and while I sat looking at her she fell over dead. The three buffalo first killed had fallen within a hundred yards of the trail where the wagons afterward passed, and my cow was but little farther away. The command soon came up, the soldiers did the butchering, and before long we were on the march again across the parched plain.

Of the millions of buffalo which even in our own time ranged the plains in freedom, none now remain. From the prairies which they used to darken, the wild herds, down to the last straggling bull, have disappeared. In the Yellowstone National Park, protected from destruction by United States troops, are the only wild buffalo which exist within the borders of the United States. These are mountain buffalo, and, from their habit of living in the thick timber and on the rough mountain-sides, they are only now and then seen by visitors to the park. It is impossible to say just how many there are, but from the best information that I can get, based on the estimates of reliable and conservative men, I conclude that the number was not less than four hundred in the winter of 1891-92. Each winter or spring the government scout employed in the park sees one or more herds of these buffalo, and as such herds are usually made up in part of young animals and have calves with them, it is fair to assume that they are steadily, if slowly, increasing. The report of a trip made in January, 1892, speaks of four herds seen in the Hayden Valley, which numbered respectively 78, 50, 110, and 15. Besides these, a number of scattering groups were seen at a distance, which would bring the number up to three hundred.

In the far northwest, in the Peace River district, there may still be found a few wood buffalo. They are seldom killed, and the estimate of their numbers varies from five hundred to fifteen hundred. This cannot be other than the merest guess, since they are scattered over many thousand square miles of territory which is without inhabitants, and for the most part unexplored.

On the great plains is still found the buffalo skull half buried in the soil and crumbling to decay. The deep trails once trodden by the marching hosts are grass-grown now, and fast filling up. When these most enduring relics of a vanished race shall have passed away, there will be found, in all the limitless domain once darkened by their feeding herds, not one trace of the American buffalo.

_George Bird Grinnell._

Nights with the Grizzlies

In this paper I propose to give an account of some experience with the grizzly bear in the summer and fall of 1885. Here let me correct some impressions prevailing among sportsmen from the East as to the proper time to hunt this animal. As detailed in the sporting papers, one sportsman hunting late in the fall finds them at the timber-line, and having some success and basing his opinion upon statements of his guide, is satisfied that is the only place to find them, and that you must stealthily follow the trail through dense timber, as he did. Another sportsman finds them below the foot-hills among the Bad Lands, and thinks that is the proper locality; and so each one is governed by his own particular good luck and experience. This reminds me of the heated controversy that agitated some of the readers of one of the sporting papers a few years since as to the color of the jack-rabbit of the plains: one party contending they were gray and the opposing party that they were white, each party citing his own restricted experience with that fleet-footed animal. To those having more extended observation it was plain that each side was to a certain extent right as well as wrong, for it is well known that the jack-rabbit is gray during summer and fall and turns white in the winter, and then again sheds his white coat in spring: at least this is the case in Wyoming and Montana.

So with the grizzly. He is essentially an omnivorous animal: his food varying with each season and the locality where such food is obtained, his habitat varies accordingly. He lies in his winter bed until routed out by the melting of the winter snow, and the ground being still frozen, he has to rustle for his grub. He soon becomes poor from the necessity of much traveling around for old carcasses and whatever food comes handy. He is then usually in the foot-hills. In the summer his food is more vegetable--grass, roots, plants, etc. His haunt is then on the highest mountain plateaus, where he does a great deal of rooting in a certain kind of loose rock and loam. In the last of summer, berries are ripe, and he is then found below the foot-hills, and in the Bad Lands, or wherever chokeberries, plums, bulberries, etc., are found. In the fall he craves animal food, and is then found high up in the foot-hills, or again on the mountain plateaus, wherever game is most abundant; and in November and December he seeks his winter quarters. These remarks do not apply to grizzly bears that are found in the Bad Lands bordering the Missouri or the Lower Yellowstone, as they live there the entire year, "holing up" in winter in the bluffs of those desolate-looking regions.

The intellect and intelligence of the grizzly bear are not fully appreciated. Strip him of his hide, stand him erect on his hind feet, stick a plug hat on his upper end, and he resembles in anatomy and general appearance that "noblest work of God"--man: a little too long-bodied, neck a little short, but otherwise, looking at the muscles of his thighs and forearm, a veritable athlete. Re-clothe him in his fur, place him on his all fours, watch him rooting around for grubs and worms and carrion, and wallowing in mud and filth, and he resembles in apparent stupidity and habits the lowest type of animal--the hog. Yet those well acquainted with his characteristics will, I think, agree with me that in intelligence and perhaps even in intellect he is not many grades in the process of evolution below man.

From Scribner's Magazine.]

About the middle of July, 1885, word reached me that there was considerable sign of bear "rooting" on some high mountain plateaus not many days' travel by pack-train from my ranch. Taking a pack outfit, including my fur-lined sleeping-bag, a good mountain man, and a lad of fifteen to take care of camp and the horses, and enough grub for a few days, we reached the locality, after a hard climb, about noon on the 18th of July. We made camp at about 8500 feet elevation on the head of one of the forks of Four Bear Creek, having to pack wood up from below for making coffee.

We struck out after lunch up the gulch, and after going a few miles discovered a grizzly rooting among the rocks well up to its head, near the summit of the range, which is here between 10,000 and 11,000 feet elevation. A reconnaissance indicated that the only chance to approach him to windward was by crossing the mountain to the right into the valley of another fork of Four Bear Creek. Accordingly, we climbed over the mountain divide and were making along its opposite slope, when just in our front about a mile off, near the head of the gulch on the right, was discovered another grizzly rooting. It was agreed that I was to have the shot, and it became necessary to leave my horse and dogs back with the men. I took it afoot. A little study of the ground showed that in order to approach him successfully, it was necessary to descend to the bottom of the gorge on the right, and to ascend along its bed. This I proceeded to do. Just before reaching the bed of the gorge I was exposed to view, and was walking fast or running to get the advantage of its friendly cover. When within about fifty yards of the bottom, and with my attention directed to the bear about half a mile away, a large grizzly forced himself on my attention by rising from his bed in the bottom of the gulch. Walking slowly away, he commenced ascending diagonally the opposite and steep side of the gorge. The old rascal during the heat of the day had dug a resting-place in the cool bed of the branch, was taking his siesta, and evidently resented being disturbed. From the sullen way in which he made off, occasionally looking back, I felt he was going to be ugly. Quicker than it takes to write it, I had two cartridges in my right hand, which, with the one in the rifle, were thought sufficient, for at that time the size of the beast was not realized. The cartridge in the rifle was a 110-270-grain express, and those in the hand 110-270-grain and 110-340-grain respectively, all express-balls.

While making these preparations, the bear, going diagonally up the side of the gulch, had disappeared behind a huge conglomerate boulder that overhung the stream. Seeing he must soon emerge, I dropped on my right knee and stood ready to fire at the first favorable opportunity. In a moment he emerged from behind the boulder, walked up a short distance, stopped and looked back, exposing his left side to rather more than a quartering shot. Aim was quickly taken for his heart. A report followed, and the little express-ball did its work well. It broke two ribs, three or four large fragments entered the heart, and the balance of the splinters scattered through the lungs. Making but little noise when hit,--an ugly sigh,--he, as this species of bear almost always does under like circumstances, tucked his head between his hind legs, and rolled down into the gulch, using his fore legs for guides. He came up with a bounce, was on his feet in a moment and making a rush straight for me. I had loaded in a jiffy with the other 110-270-grain cartridge, but waited a moment until he commenced ascending my side of the gulch, hoping with a good shot to roll him back. Crossing rapidly the bed of the gulch, he was in a moment ascending toward me, and when within about thirty yards (he was originally about seventy yards at the first fire) I fired at his front, hitting at the point of the right shoulder, shattering the socket-joint and that bone half-way to the elbow. He did not roll back, but was demoralized and sickened, and had not the sand to come further, but changing his direction to the left about forty-five degrees, passed within twenty yards of my right front. I was loaded and ready for another shot as he passed. He appeared so near done for, however, that I hesitated to fire, wishing to have some practice on him for my two young dogs Bob and Snip, which had never seen a live bear. He, however, seemed, after passing, to mend his licks so fast that I feared he would give trouble in despatching him, so I ran rapidly after him, he in the mean time having partially disappeared under the bank; and when within fifteen or twenty yards he turned at bay, facing me. Before he could charge, if such was his aim, the 110-340-grain cartridge was delivered into the side of the neck within the collar-bone, making a fearful wound, and rolling him down into the gulch, where he soon died. It was only after my man had come up and the bear had been rolled over that his dimensions and the danger I escaped by the little ball doing such execution at the socket-joint were realized. Had it struck an inch and a half to the left, he would have been on me in a few more jumps; and though another shot would have been given, I think, unless it had been a paralyzing shot in the brain or spinal column, he could have so torn and lacerated me as to make death preferable.

I have been in half a dozen scrapes of more or less danger with these bears, but have never lost my presence of mind until they were dead, and the danger passed through realized. I have always determined never to run, but to face them and fire away, believing that the least sign of fear gives any animal additional courage.

I had an adventure similar to this with, a she-bear that had been approached within fifty-seven yards. It was a bright moonlight night, and her cub was squalling in a beaver-trap by her side. A good shot was delivered over the heart. Three shots were discharged as she rushed forward, first by myself, then one from Le Corey, who was backing me, and then another by myself; and when the "racket" was over, the bear was lying dead twelve yards from us. All these shots were bull's-eyes and deadly. In this case I could not have run had the spirit moved me, as from a serious accident I had been on crutches or my back for twenty-four days, and hobbled up the mountain in this instance with the help of a crutch and a stick, Le carrying my rifle.

A familiarity with all the breech-actions of the day, together with an extended experience with the Sharps system, has convinced me that the latter system, in safety, facility, and rapidity of manipulation, is not equaled by any. Take the next best, the double-barreled rifle: only two shots could have been delivered in the two before-described adventures. I have never had sufficient confidence in any of the repeating rifles to use them against dangerous game, when so much better could be had. Their want of power, their facility for getting out of order at the wrong time, especially when rapidly manipulated, combined with the fact that their rapidity of fire is very little greater than a system like the Sharps, are the considerations that have influenced me. In my opinion there has not yet been invented a repeating apparatus that is equal, under all circumstances, to the human hands in connection with a good breech system.

A better idea of these bears can be had from measurements than from weight. The bear first alluded to was a very large one (one among three of the largest ever killed by me), and, judging by one killed and weighed subsequently, he probably weighed 600 pounds, though not fat. His length, as he would have stood, was 6 feet 10 inches. Measurements show that he could have stood erect on his hind feet to the height of 8 feet. His head was 18 inches long by 12 inches wide; his hind foot 11-1/2 inches by 6 inches; fore foot, without the toes, 7 by 6 inches. His forearm, after being skinned, measured 18 inches around; his skull, which is preserved, 15-7/8 inches by 9 inches. The tusks projected from the gums 1-5/8 inches.

With the 45-caliber rifle used, I have killed nearly 40 bears--all, with the exception of this one, with a 340-grain express-ball. This 270-grain express bullet was a 44-caliber used for several years on deer from a 44-caliber rifle. It did very good work in this instance, but for a large bear the heavier ball is preferable. The 270-grain ball flies remarkably true for its weight.

In the process of skinning the bear, it was found that this was not the first encounter he had had with mankind. In the muscles of the neck, and of the right fore leg above the elbow and next to the bone, were found four rifle-balls, and a large fragment of another ball. The wounds had healed up, and each ball was inclosed in a sac with the appearance of having been there several years: one 42-caliber 205-grain lead ball lay in the muscles of the neck, another of same caliber and weight, two 50-caliber 375-grain lead balls, and the large flattened fragment of a ball were in the muscles of one fore leg next to the bone. The 42-caliber balls I judged were fired from a '66 model, 44-caliber Winchester, and as all the balls were little battered and did not shatter the bone, they must have been fired from a rim-fire cartridge; all the balls were cannelured.

The bear I was after when this one was stumbled on, took to his heels and disappeared rapidly over the mountain after the second shot. We went for the first one seen, but the dogs getting the wind of him, and having a taste of bear's blood, ignominiously "broke" and stirred him up. We chased him on horseback and afoot for three quarters of a mile, but did not get near enough to get in an effectual shot. The dogs, that had never before chased a live bear, could run alongside of him, but did not take hold. Probably you or I would have done the same thing under the circumstances.

Haying-time cut short this hunt. A short time afterward one of my neighbors complained of the depredations of bears among his thoroughbred cattle, having recently lost two yearlings. I suggested that if he would furnish the medicine in the shape of a carcass, a repetition of such business might be stopped. He agreed, and I at once reconnoitered the locality and selected a point in the valley of a small mountain stream, where he promptly had the carcass planted. An almost daily inspection was made of the medicine, but not until the morning of the seventh day were there any indications of its being disturbed. Promptly on hand at five o'clock that evening, I was rather incautiously approaching under cover of a slight rise of ground and the sage-brush, and had gotten within 150 yards, when a dark object that to my startled imagination appeared ten feet high, and proportionately broad, appeared to rise out of the earth. Recognizing the situation at once, I rose up offhand and pulled, but the firing-pin failed. This had never before happened under such circumstances, and only half a dozen times in the rifle's history, for want of attention to the firing-bolt. The bear gave me time to cock and fire, but as no answering "bawl" came, the shot was evidently a miss, resulting from my being "put out" by the previous mishap. He was rapidly followed to the edge of the willow swamp (about 150 yards), through which the trail passed, where he was seen, evidently unwilling to forego his evening meal. He quickly sat up, made me out, and at once disappeared before a shot could be delivered. I gave him up for the time, very much discouraged at failing to bag such a large grizzly. He was evidently a boar, and certainly was not much scared, and from his size and actions I was satisfied he was the one that had stolen my neighbor's yearlings. The next evening, August 17, I was on hand early; but, acting on previous experience, took a different position on his trail a hundred yards from the medicine. The direction of the wind forced me to take position with my back to the brush from which the bear would probably appear. This did not suit me. On first arriving on the ground, a dark object came rapidly down the mountain-side, about one mile up the valley, through an opening. This evidently was a bear, though not apparently as large as my friend of the evening before; and I felt sure he would make his appearance did he not take the alarm. Lying down, protected by some sage-brush, I waited patiently until the gray dusk of approaching twilight, but no bear appeared on the scene.

Can you recall your feelings when, as a boy, you passed through a graveyard at the hour of dusk, thinking, with the poet,

'T is now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world?

With what superstitious dread you looked cautiously around, expecting a hobgoblin at any moment to rise out of the ground? How every noise--the crackling of a twig--startled you? So it is with me when watching on the trail of this bear at such an hour. When occasion requires it, his movement is as stealthy and noiseless as a cat's. You hear the rolling of a boulder up the mountain-side in the timber several hundred yards away. You know it must be done by some large animal, and you suspect a bear. Presently the same noise, but closer, and your faculties are all on the _qui vive_, and you are every moment expecting his appearance. You wait what, to the excited senses, appears a long time. What has become of him? It was, perhaps, a false alarm, and you are discouraged; when, presently, there he stands, apparently right on you, and seemingly risen out of the ground.

So it was on this occasion, as I lay in the open about thirty feet from the thicket, in a prone position in the grass, clothed in soiled buckskin, with three cartridges in left hand and finger on trigger, ready to rise into a sitting position and deliver fire. Hark! the crackling of brush almost behind me. It is a moment of intense interest, for I don't know where he will appear. My attention is kept constantly to the rear and left rear. No more noise. What has become of him? It is getting very dark, and maybe it was a mistake. Presently, there! right on me apparently, but really fifty yards to the left rear, stands a black mass that must be the bear. I rise cautiously to a sitting position, and as he stands, looking wistfully up toward the old horse, I pull away at his side. The report is followed by a suppressed bawl, and he rolls over. I am loaded in a moment and waiting to see if he regains his feet. He does not, and it is unnecessary to fire. I walk up to him with finger on trigger at a ready, but the death-rattle is in his throat, and another shot is unnecessary. He turns out to be a black bear with a very black coat, and pretty well furred. He is dressed as quickly as possible, for it is now dark, and quite six miles to quarters, over a trailless mountain. A walk of half a mile to my horse Pike, and then as rapid a ride home as circumstances will admit, wind up the evening's adventures. I am well satisfied, but know I have not yet gotten the right one, the "calf-killer."

Rush skins and attends to the hide the next morning, and before sundown I am again on hand. The old horse is fast disappearing, and it is desirable to lose no time. Position is taken this time a little nearer the trail. In coming out from the willow-brush it passes for twenty or thirty yards through a marsh that is screened, to some extent, by scattering willows on the near side; and my position enables me to see, through these willows, a portion of the trail over which the bear will probably come. Late in the afternoon a storm had passed around the mountain, and a strong and favorable wind was blowing. Lying prone among the sage-brush, in a position favorable for observation, with everything at a ready, I wait patiently. Sundown comes; the mountain to the west casts its shadows around. It becomes quite dusky: so much so that I experiment as to whether the fore sight can be seen, otherwise a wad of white paper must be tied over the front sight. This is as yet unnecessary. It is now the witching time when this bear likes to prowl around. The senses are all on the strain as they are directed to the left rear. Just then a dark moving mass flits by between the willows on the trail, and soon emerges in full view, but again to disappear in a slight depression passed by the trail. Heavens, what a monster he seems in the dim twilight! As soon as he disappears I move rapidly and noiselessly forward to within about fifty yards of the trail he has to pass, drop on the right knee, and am ready. He does not come to time, however, and has evidently stopped to listen; doubtless remembering the first evening's experience, and being in hearing of last evening's racket. Has he taken the alarm and gone back? When on the point of going to the left, peering over, and taking a chance shot on the run, his back appears over the sage-brush and he is moving confidently forward, having satisfied himself there is no danger. At the first favorable opportunity, as he passes through the sage-brush, I deliver fire into his side, a little too high, and he rolls over, but with such a bawl as to indicate he is dangerous, did he know from what direction came the shot. He is soon on his feet, going back on his trail, toward the swamp. Loading quickly, I run forward to intercept him, and find him, after stumbling along 40 or 50 yards, in a sitting position near the edge of the marsh, evidently nearly done for, with his back toward me. A moment's interval was sufficient to place a ball in the back of his head; he rolls over, and is soon dead. A hasty examination showed him to be a large bear, and the handsomest and most symmetrically formed I had ever killed. He was in just the proper flesh for activity and business, though not quite as large as the big bear killed on the Big Bear Fork of Four Bear Creek, heretofore described.

Before proceeding to disembowel him, I did what had always been done under like circumstances--that is, placed the loaded rifle convenient for instant use. Something whispered this caution, especially now, as it was a time when another bear might appear on the trail at any moment. Keeping my eyes as much as possible at the point on the opposite side of the marsh, where the trail debouched on to it, I had proceeded to rip the carcass from the throat to the pelvis, and had my hands already messed up in a mass of liver, paunch, express-balls, etc., etc., when my attention was drawn to a dark mass at that point, and in a moment my rifle was in hand ready for the emergency. By the time I was ready to fire he had discovered something unusual in his front, and had "sat up" to make me out. Before doing so, aim had been quickly taken at his brisket, and at the report he had tumbled over, the ball striking the left side, fragments penetrating the heart. Judging from his boldness in stumbling on to me, not more than fifteen minutes after my last shot, I expected that he would show fight, but instead he made back on his trail as fast as his condition would allow. From previous experience in just such circumstances, the necessity was at once recognized of a cautious but vigorous pursuit, if he was to be secured before hiding in the brush; and without hesitation I plunged through the marsh, half knee-deep in mud and water, and entered the narrow trail on the opposite side. Pursuing it rapidly for thirty or forty yards to where it passed through a little opening, there, within ten steps of me, was a dark mass, breathing heavily and lying partially behind a small clump of willows. Putting a telling shot through the center of the mass, he appeared to wake up, and gave an exhibition of some of the grandest ground and lofty tumbling, at one time appearing to stand up on his head and kicking with his hind feet ten feet straight into the air. As he did not get upon his feet again, another shot was unnecessary, and he soon settled down and was dead.

This bear was as large from tip to tip as he of the Big Bear Fork, but not as fat nor as large-bodied; in fact, not as heavy as the one just killed. Neither of these bears, I think, needed a second shot, and, undisturbed, would not have gotten on their feet again. A dense thicket was near, and they might have scrambled into its cover and have been lost, so another shot was given. At any rate, darkness was at hand by the time the carcasses were dressed, and a dense fog was settling over the mountain that had to be crossed. The exhilaration of spirits from the killing of two such large bears on the same evening--one of them the bear that I was after--caused me to forget fatigue and fog, and with a light heart Pike was mounted and the mountain ascended. A thick fog soon enveloped us, so that nothing could be seen beyond a hundred feet. Pike and I soon disagreed as to the direction, but I insisted on my way. After going a half-mile and getting into some rough ground, it was evident that I was wrong and completely befogged. The rein was then given to Pike, and he turned squarely to the left, and, having gone 600 yards over some pretty rough ground, he came to the head of the game-trail leading down the mountain, and which we had several times traveled. Pike had his way the balance of the ride, and after passing across the drainage for two miles we got below the fog, and by ten o'clock we were once more at home.

As an indication of the labor usually undergone in hunting this bear, it is stated that seventy-five miles were traveled (one half of which was in the night) before the first shot, and one hundred and five miles before killing the three. I have since traveled more than a hundred miles after a special bear and was repaid by only one shot at long range, and no bear.

The next day Rush and McDevitt skinned and packed in the hides and fat of the two grizzlies. The weighing apparatus was taken along, and the "calf-killer" was found to weigh 405 pounds after being dressed sixteen hours, the other something less. The black bear was not weighed, but it is presumed he weighed about the average of this species (175 pounds) in life.