KILLING COUGARS.
It was springtime in an early year of pioneer times. D. T. and Louisa
Denny were living in their log cabin in the swale, an opening in the
midst of the great forest, about midway between Elliott Bay and Lake
Union. Not very far away was their only neighbor, Thomas Mercer, with
his family of several young daughters.
On a pleasant morning, balmy with the presage of coming summer, as the
two pioneers, David T. Denny and Thomas Mercer, wended, their way to
their task of cutting timber, they observed some of the cattle lying
down in an open space, and heard the tinkling bell of one of the little
band wandering about cropping fresh spring herbage in the edge of the
woods. They looked with a feeling of affection at the faithful dumb
creatures who were to aid in affording sustenance, as well as a sort of
friendly companionship in the lonely wilds.
After a long, sunny day spent in swinging the ax, whistling, singing and
chatting, they returned to their cabins as the shadows were deepening in
the mighty forest.
[Illustration: LOG CABIN IN THE SWALE]
In the first cabin there was considerable anxiety manifested by the
mistress of the same, revealed in the conversation at the supper
table:
"David," said she, "there was something wrong with the cattle
today; I heard a calf bawl as if something had caught it and
'Whiteface' came up all muddy and distressed looking."
"Is that so? Did you look to see what it was?"
"I started to go but the baby cried so that I had to come back. A
little while before that I thought I heard an Indian halloo and
looked out of the door expecting to see him come down to the
trail, but I did not see anything at all."
"What could it be? Well, it is so dark now in the woods that I
can't see anything; I will have to wait until tomorrow."
Early the next morning, David went up to the place where he had seen the
calves the day before, taking "Towser," a large Newfoundland dog with
him, also a long western rifle he had brought across the plains.
Not so many rods away from the cabin he found the remnants of a calf
upon which some wild beast had feasted the day previous.
There were large tracks all around easily followed, as the ground was
soft with spring rains. Towser ran out into the thick timber hard after
a wild creature, and David heard something scratch and run up a tree and
thought it must be a wild cat.
No white person had ever seen any larger specimen of the feline race in
this region.
He stepped up to a big fir log and walked along perhaps fifty feet and
looking up a giant cedar tree saw a huge cougar glaring down at him with
great, savage yellow eyes, crouching motionless, except for the
incessant twitching, to and fro, of the tip of its tail, as a cat does
when watching a mouse.
Right before him in so convenient a place as to attract his attention,
stood a large limb which had fallen and stuck into the ground alongside
the log he was standing on, so he promptly rested his gun on it, but it
sank into the soft earth from the weight of the gun and he quickly drew
up, aiming at the chest of the cougar.
The gun missed fire.
Fearing the animal would spring upon him, he walked back along the log
about twenty feet, took a pin out of his coat and picked out the tube,
poured in fresh powder from his powder horn and put on a fresh cap.
All the time the yellow eyes watched him.
Advancing again, he fired; the bullet struck through its vitals, but
away it went bolting up the tree quite a distance. Another bullet was
rammed home in the old muzzle loader. The cougar was dying, but still
held on by its claws stuck in the bark of the tree, its head resting on
a limb. Receiving one more shot in the head it let go and came hurtling
down to the ground.
Towser was wild with savage delight and bit his prostrate enemy many
times, chewing at the neck until it was a mass of foam, but not once did
his sharp teeth penetrate the tough, thick hide.
Hurrying back, David called for Mercer, a genial man always ready to
lend a hand, to help him get the beast out to the cabin. The two men
found it very heavy, all they could stagger under, even the short
distance it had to be carried.
As soon as the killing of the cougar was reported in the settlement, two
miles away, everybody turned out to see the monster.
Mrs. Catherine Blaine, the school teacher, who had gone home with the
Mercer children, saw the animal and marveled at its size.
Henry L. Yesler and all the mill hands repaired to the spot to view the
dead monarch of the forest, none of whom had seen his like before. Large
tracks had been seen in various places but were credited to timber
wolves. This cougar's forearm measured the same as the leg of a large
horse just above the knee joint.
Such an animal, if it jumped down from a considerable height, would
carry a man to the ground with such force as to stun him, when he could
be clawed and chewed up at the creature's will.
While the curious and admiring crowd were measuring and guessing at the
weight of the cougar, Mr. Yesler called at the cabin. He kept looking
about while he talked and finally said, "You are quite high-toned here,
I see your house is papered," at which all laughed good-naturedly. Not
all the cabins were "papered," but this one was made quite neat by means
of newspapers pasted on the walls, the finishing touch being a border of
nothing more expensive than blue calico.
At last they were all satisfied with their inspection of the first
cougar and returned to the settlement.
A moral might be pinned here: if this cougar had not dined so
gluttonously on the tender calf, which no doubt made excellent veal,
possibly he would not have come to such a sudden and violent end.
Had some skillful taxidermist been at hand to mount this splendid
specimen of Felis Concolor, the first killed by a white man in this
region, it would now be very highly prized.
Some imagine that the danger of encounters with cougars has been
purposely exaggerated by the pioneer hunters to create admiring respect
for their own prowess. This is not my opinion, as I believe there is
good reason to fear them, especially if they are hungry.
They are large, swift and agile, and have the advantage in the dense
forest of the northwest Pacific coast, as they can station themselves in
tall trees amid thick foliage and pounce upon deer, cattle and human
beings.
Several years after the killing of the first specimen, a cow was caught
in the jaw by a cougar, but wrenched herself away in terror and pain
and ran home with the whole frightened herd at her heels, into the
settlement of Seattle.
The natives have always feared them and would much rather meet a bear
than a cougar, as the former will, ordinarily, run away, while the
latter is hard to scare and is liable to follow and spring out of the
thick undergrowth.
In one instance known to the pioneers first mentioned in this chapter,
an Indian woman who was washing at the edge of a stream beat a cougar
off her child with a stick, thereby saving its life.
In early days, about 1869 or '70, a Mr. T. Cherry, cradling oats in a
field in Squowh Valley, was attacked by a cougar; holding his cradle
between him and the hungry beast, he backed toward the fence, the animal
following until the fence was reached. A gang of hogs were feeding just
outside the enclosure and the cougar leaped the fence, seized one of the
hogs and ran off with it.
A saloon-keeper on the Snohomish River, walking along the trail in the
adjacent forest one day with his yellow dog, was startled by the sudden
accession to their party of a huge and hungry cougar. The man fled
precipitately, leaving the dog to his fate. The wild beast fell to and
made a meal of the hapless canine, devouring all but the tip of his
yellow tail, which his sorrowing master found near the trail the next
day.
A lonely pioneer cabin on the Columbia River was enclosed by a high
board fence. One sunny day as the two children of the family were
playing in the yard, a cougar sprang from a neighboring tree and caught
one of the children; the mother ran out and beat off the murderous
beast, but the child was dead.
She then walked six or seven miles to a settlement carrying the dead
child, while leading the other. What a task! The precious burden, the
heavier load of sorrow, the care of the remaining child, the dread of a
renewed attack from the cougar and the bodily fatigue incident to such a
journey, forming an experience upon which it would be painful to dwell.
Many more such incidents might be given, but I am reminded at this point
that they would appropriately appear in another volume.
Since the first settlement there have been killed in King County nearly
thirty of these animals.
C. Brownfield, an old settler on Lake Union, killed several with the aid
of "Jack," a yellow dog which belonged to D. T. Denny for a time, then
to A. A. Denny.
C. D. Boren, with his dog, killed others.
Moses Kirkland brought a dog from Louisiana, a half bloodhound, with
which Henry Van Asselt hunted and killed several cougars.
D. T. Denny killed one in the region occupied by the suburb of Seattle
known as Ross. It had been dining off mutton secured from Dr. H. A.
Smith's flock of sheep. It was half grown and much the color of a deer.
Toward Lake Washington another flock of sheep had been visited by a
cougar, and Mr. Wetmore borrowed D. T. Denny's little dog "Watch," who
treed the animal, remaining by it all night, but it escaped until a trap
was set, when, being more hungry than cautious, it was secured.