A few years ago, a friend and I were cruising for our amusement in
California, with outfit of our own, consisting of three pack horses, two
saddle animals, tent and camp furnishings. We had started from Los
Angeles; had explored various out-of-the-way passes and valleys in the
San Bernardino and San Rafael Mountains, taking care the while to keep
our camp supplied with game; had killed deer and exceptionally fine
antelope in the hills adjoining the Mojave Desert; had crossed the San
Joaquin Valley and visited the Yosemite, where the good fortune of
finding the Half Dome, with the Anderson rope, carried away by ice, gave
us the opportunity for one delicious climb in replacing it.
Returning to Fresno, we had sold our ponies and ended our five months'
jaunt. My friend had gone East, and I had accepted the invitation of a
member of the Union Club in San Francisco, to whom I bore a letter of
introduction, to accompany him upon a bear-hunt in the Sierras. He
explained to me that the limited extent of his ranch in the San Joaquin
Valley--a meager and restricted demesne of only 7,000 acres, consisting
of splendid pasturage and arable land--made it necessary for the sheep
to look elsewhere than at home for sustenance during the summer months.
Many of the great ranches in the valley possessed prescriptive rights to
pasturage over vast tracts in the high Sierras. These, although not
recognized by the law, were at least ignored, and were sanctioned by
custom. The land belonged to nobody--that is, it belonged to Uncle Sam,
which, so far as a Texas or California stockman was concerned, amounted
to exactly the same thing. The owner of such a right to pasturage
zealously maintained his claim; and if, for any reason, he could not use
it himself during a particular season, he formally gave his consent to
some one else to enjoy the privilege in his stead. It was considered a
gross violation of etiquette for a stockman to trespass upon that
portion of the forest habitually used by other sheep. Such intrusions
did occur, particularly upon the part of Mexicans with small
flocks--"tramp sheep" they were called; but when the intruder was shot,
small sympathy accompanied him to the grave, and the deep damnation of
his taking off, in more senses than one, served as a salutary reminder
to other gentlemen with discourteous tendencies to maraud. The
consequence of all this was that a big ranchman spoke of his summer
range with the same sense of proprietorship and security of possession
as of his alfalfa field or pits of ensilage.
We arrived at my friend's ranch in the evening, and the next morning but
one were in the saddle and on our way--it having been arranged that the
younger brother of my host was to take his place upon the hunt. As we
were to arrive at the sheep-herders' camps on the fourth day from the
ranch, no elaborate preparations were necessary; we took but a single
animal for the pack, besides the horses we rode. A Mexican herder,
Leonard, was the third member of the party--cook, packer, guide, general
storehouse of information and jest. The first night we camped in the
foot hills, in a grove of big-cone pines, curiously enough in the exact
place where, a fortnight before, my friend Proctor and I had pitched our
tent on the way from the Yosemite to Fresno, and which we had left
without the slightest expectation, on the part of either, of ever seeing
again.
Little of the journey to the mountains remains in my memory. We passed a
great timber chute of astonishing length--twenty or forty miles, or
something of the sort--down which timber is floated from the great pine
and spruce forests to the railroad, with little trouble and at slight
expense; the water being of commercial value for purposes of irrigation
during the summer, and bringing a good price after it has fulfilled its
special function as carrier. The drinking water for my friend's ranch
was taken from this, a supply being drawn in the cool of the morning
sufficient to last throughout the day, and most grateful we found it
during sultry August days in a part of the country where ice is not to
be procured.
Each of the four days of our journey we were climbing higher among the
mountains, into a thinner and more invigorating atmosphere. The days
were hot so long as one remained exposed to the sun, but the shadows
were cool and the nights most refreshing. Upon the last morning of our
journey, crossing a mountain creek, my attention was called to a rude
bridge, where had occurred a battle of the ranchmen upon the occasion of
an attempted entry by a "tramp" owner with his flock into somebody's
"summer range." The intruder was killed, and I believe in this
particular instance the possessor of the unwritten right of exclusive
pasturage upon Government land found the laws of California awkward to
deal with; not so deadly, it may be, as a six-shooter, but expensive and
discouraging to quiet pastoral methods.
Another point of interest was Rattlesnake Rock, which we rounded upon
the trail. This was a spot peculiarly sheltered and favored by the
winds, the warmest corner that snakes wot of, and here they assemble for
their winter's sleep. In the mild days of early spring, when the rest of
the world is still frozen and forbidden, this one little nook, catching
all the sun, is thawed and genial. From beneath the ledge crawl forth
into the warmth great store of rattlers, big and little. Coming out from
the Yosemite Valley, I had killed one quite four feet in length and of
exactly the same girth as my wrist, which I was assured was not at all
an extraordinary size for them "in these parts." Near this rock, in an
unfeeling manner, I shot the head off another big one, and he will no
longer attend the yearly meeting of his kind at Rattlesnake Rock.
Upon this stage of our journey we met no one, yet the noble forest of
spruce through which we were traveling bore only too plainly the signs
of man's presence in the past, and of his injurious disregard of the
future. Everywhere were the traces of fire. The trees of the Sierras, at
the elevation at which we were, an altitude of 8,000 or 10,000 feet,
grow more sparsely than in any forest to which we are accustomed in the
East. Their dry and unimpeded spaces seem like heaven to the hunter
familiar only with the tangled and perplexing undergrowth of the "North
Woods," where the midday shadow, the thick underbrush, the uneven and
wet, mossy surface, except upon some remote hardwood ridge, are the
unvarying characteristics. In the Rocky Mountains, and that part of the
Sierras with which I am familiar, it is quite different. In California
the trees do not crowd and jostle one another, but have regard for the
sacredness of the person so far as the mutual relation of one and all
are concerned. Broad patches of sunshine beneath the trees encourage the
growth of rich grasses, none so sweet as those which are found at a
great altitude; and, although the prevailing tint under foot is that of
the reddish earth, tufts of succulent feed abound sufficient to repay
the sheep for cruising everywhere, while occasional glades furnish the
most delicious and abundant pasturage. As in every forest, the processes
of nature are slow--it takes a long time for the dead past to bury its
dead. On every side lie fallen trees; and a generation of rain and snow,
sunshine and wind and tempest, must elapse before these are rotted away,
and by the enrichment of the soil can furnish nourishment and life to
their progeny and successors. Naturally these trees are a hindrance and
annoyance to the sheep herder; they separate his flock and greatly
increase his labors. The land is not even his master's, whose one idea
is temporary gain, hence there is no restraining influence whatever for
their preservation. "So long as it lasts my lifetime, what matter?" is
the prevailing sentiment.
As there is no rain during the summer months, the fallen trees become
perfectly dry; a handful of lighted twigs is all that is required to set
fire to them, when they blaze or smoulder until consumed. Owing to the
absence of underbrush, forest fires are far less common than would be
expected; but, of course, the soil is impoverished by the deprivation of
its natural enrichment, the decaying wood, and the centuries to come
will there, as well nigh everywhere in our country, point the finger of
scorn at our spendthrift forestry.
Although this is the chief economic injury, the beauty of the woods is
sadly marred; all large game is frightened away, except the bear, which
is half human and half hog in his methods, and minds it not at all--in
fact, finds the presence of man perfectly intelligible, and his fat
flocks a substantial addition to his own bill of fare. Leonard pointed
out to us a certain mountain shrub, a rank poison to sheep. Every
cluster of it in his range is known to the herder, who keeps the sheep
in his charge at a safe distance. This is one of his important duties;
for, if a sheep eats of this plant, he is a "goner."
In one particular the pasturage of the high Sierras has greatly
suffered. The ranchmen naturally wish to get their sheep off the home
range as early in the spring as possible--in fact, the last month there
is one of starvation. The new crops have not yet grown, nothing remains
standing of the old but a few dead stalks of weeds, the supply of
alfalfa cut the year before has long since been exhausted, and,
metaphorically speaking, the sheep and cattle have to dine, as the
hungry Indian is said to do, by tightening his belt half a dozen holes
and thinking of what he had to eat week before last. Only the weaklings
die, however; the others become lean and restless, and as eager as their
masters to start for the mountains. The journey supplies them with scant
pickings, just enough to keep body and soul together, but morally it is
a relief from the monotony of starvation at home, and they work their
way stubbornly and expectantly up the mountains and into the forest as
soon as the sun permits and anything has grown for them to eat. The
consequence of this close grazing is that certain species of the grasses
upon which they feed are never allowed to come to flower and mature
their seed; hence those with a delicate root, the more strictly annual
varieties, which rely upon seed for perpetuation of the plant, have a
hard time of it. Where the sheep range, the wild timothy, for example--a
dwarf variety and an excellent, sweet grass--has almost disappeared,
although formerly it grew in abundance.
The forest glades through which we passed had the appearance of a
closely-cropped pasture, as different as possible from the profusion of
tall grasses and beautiful flowering plants which grow in similar
openings untroubled by sheep. So far as the grasses are concerned--or
"grass," by which, I take it, is ordinarily designated the foliage of
the plant--I doubt if it is molested to any great extent by deer. Their
diet is mainly the tender leaves of plants--"weeds" to the unscientific
person. The heads of wild oats and of a few of the grasses might prove
sufficiently sweet and tempting to arrest their fancy; but as for
grazing, as sheep or cattle do, it is not their habit. When deer shall
have come to trudge up hill in the plodding gait of the domestic beasts,
and shall have abandoned their present method of ascending by a series
of splendid springing leaps and bounds, the very embodiment of vigor and
of wild activity, time enough then for them to take to munching grass,
the sustenance of the harmless, necessary cow. At present they are most
fastidious in their food, and select only the choicest, tenderest tips
and sweetest tufts of herbage, picking them here and there, wandering
and meditating as they eat. I will not say that they never touch grass,
for I have seen deer feeding among cattle in the open, but it is not by
any means the chief article of their diet, and when they partake of it
under such circumstances, it is more as a gratification of their social
instincts, I think, than from any particular love of the food itself.
A little before noon upon the fourth day, we arrived at one of the sheep
camps, to which we had been directed by a stray herd, and where we were
to find the foreman of the sheep gang. At that hour of the day there
were naturally in camp but a few men. The cook was there, of course. His
functions were simple enough--to make bread, tea, and boil mutton, or
bake it in a Mexican oven beneath the coals. With him was the chief
herder and a half-witted Portuguese, who, upon the day following, in the
plenitude of his zeal and mental deficiency, insisted upon offering
himself as live bait for a grizzly, as will be narrated.
During the afternoon I strolled further up the mountain with my rifle,
in the hope of a shot at a stray deer, and to have a look at the lay of
the land. Bear tracks I saw and a little deer sign also, but it was too
early in the day regularly to hunt. All nature nodded in the dozy glare
of the August afternoon, and after the hot journey in the saddle I found
a siesta under the clean spruce trees refreshing. Toward sunset I awoke
to find a pine martin in a tree across the gulch reconnoitering, and
evidently turning over in his mind the probabilities whether the big
creature curled up on the hillside "forninst" him were of the cast of
hunter or hunted. I soon brought him out of that, and upon my return to
camp the hide was graciously accepted by the chief herder, who converted
the head of it into a tobacco pouch with neatness and dispatch. At the
evening meal there were good-natured references to _chile con
oso_--bear's meat cooked with red peppers--regret expressed that the
camp's larder could at present afford none, and expressions of
confidence that this delicacy would soon be set before us--all most
politely and comfortably insinuated. They had the gratification of their
desire; it was on the next day but one.
That night there was a great jabbering of bad Spanish around the
camp-fire. Had this been the rendezvous of Sicilian brigands, it
doubtless would have had a slightly more picturesque appearance, but the
difference would have been only of degree, not at all of kind. The
absence of rain made tents unnecessary. Piles of bedding, of cooking and
riding equipment, defined the encampment. Around the fire a dozen
Mexicans clustered, of whom, except the chief herder and Leonard, not
one spoke English. They wore the broad hats of their race, and were
arrayed for protection against the cool night winds of the Sierras in
old and shabby cloaks, some of which had been originally bright in
color, but now were subdued by age and dirt into comfortable harmony
with the quiet tones of the mountain and the forest. Old quilts and
sheepskins carpeted a small space where we had been invited to seat
ourselves upon our arrival. Then, as throughout our stay, every possible
mark of hospitality was shown us--a delicious, faint survival of
Castilian courtesy.
Long after I had turned in, somewhere in the dead vast and middle of the
night, I was aroused by the sound of scurry and scampering among the
bunch of sheep which was rounded up near the camp. Experience has
taught these creatures to efface themselves at night, and they are only
too glad to sleep quietly, as near as possible to humans, with no
disposition to wander after dark. They realize their danger from bears,
yet the protection which a Mexican affords is a purely imaginary thing,
as unsubstantial as the baseless fabric of a vision, of as little real
substance for the protection of the flock as the dream of mutton stew
and fat bear, by no means a baseless fabric, which engrosses the
sleeping shepherd, body and mind. The disturbance upon this occasion
soon subsided. One and another of the shepherds sleepily moved in his
blankets--perhaps swore to himself a hurried prayer or two--but not one
of them spoke aloud or indicated the slightest intention of
investigating the cause of the commotion. Only too well they and the
sheep knew what it signified. Quiet reigned again, and, attaching no
importance to the incident, I was promptly asleep.
In the morning I learned that the disturbing cause had been the charge
of a grizzly into the flock within a stone's throw of us, a sound too
familiar to occasion comment at the time. There were the tracks, to
leeward of the sheep, of a she grizzly and two cubs. Their approach had
been without a sound; not the snap of a twig, or the faintest footfall,
had given any signal of their presence. The mother had critically
overhauled the flock in her mind from a slight rise of ground, on a
level with their backs or slightly higher, and made deliberate choice of
a fat wether, having a discriminating eye, and being too good a judge of
sheep flesh to take any but such as are in prime condition. A single
quick rush and she has secured her victim, in an instant, before the
rest are fairly upon their feet, and is off, carrying the sheep in her
mouth as easily as a cat would her kitten, her delighted cubs trotting
behind. Every two or three nights this occurrence was repeated, with no
interference upon the part of the Mexicans. "What recks it them?" "The
hungry sheep look up and are not fed." On the contrary, the bears are.
As for the Mexicans, they have "lost no bear!" To have seen the intruder
would have been only a gratuitous anxiety, since nothing in the world
would have tempted them to fire at it. Should they risk life and limb
for a sheep? and that the _patron's_, who had so many! It was not their
quarrel! The charge of the grizzly was a thing as much to be accepted as
an incident of the Sierras as the thunderbolt--equally dangerous to him
who should interfere as the lightning stroke to one daring to interpose
his rifle between the angry heavens and the fore-doomed tree.
We may feel sure that the lesson is not lost upon the cubs. They are
taught energy, sagacity, craft in maturing their plans, courage and
promptness in their execution. They are taught reverence for the ursine
genius, unbounded admiration for their mother's leadership and
steadiness of nerve, at the same time that they are taught contempt for
the stupidity of sheep and the pusillanimity of humans. It may be that
an apologist for the latter might find a word to mitigate their too
severe sentence. A she grizzly of the Sierras, at night, with hungry
cubs to feed, is not an altogether pleasant thing to face when
infuriated by wounds, none of which may be bad enough to cripple her,
yet combined are amply sufficient to make her pretty cross and
dangerous. The Mexican is a poor shot, but what can you expect? His
vocation is a humble one. Were he of more positive and determined
temperament, he would be a _vaquero_ of the plains, or _boyero_
(_Anglice_ "bull-whacker") on the Santa Fe trail or down in old Mexico;
and not the dry nurse of these "woolly idiots," in whose race, for
innumerable centuries, man has elaborately cultivated stupidity, and, by
systematic process of artificial selection, has faithfully eliminated
every sign of insubordination and the last trace of individuality of
temperament, and that which in our race is called character. No
native-born white man in this country can be induced to follow, for any
length of time, the vocation of shepherd. The deadly monotony of the
occupation drives him either to imbecility or desperation. It is well
known that men who habitually care for any animal come in time to
resemble him. Stable boys, bred to the vocation of groom, become
horse-faced and equine of disposition, eventually they wheeze and
whistle like a curry-comb. Cowboys partake of the scatter-brained
recklessness of the Texas steer which they tend. No one can admit dogs
to be daily and familiar companions without absorbing into his system
somewhat of their sense of humor and of their faithfulness. The
lion-tamer, who enters unscathed the den of his charge, must share the
robustious courage and determination of the beast with which he
associates. The rat-catcher, whether he be ferret or man, partakes of
the fierce slyness of the game he follows; and I remember that, years
ago, before I ever heard mention of this peculiarity of resemblance, I
could detect, plainly writ in the face of the attendant of "Mr.
Crowley," when he was kept in the old arsenal building in Central Park,
the reflected temperament and animalism of the poor, indolent, captive
chimpanzee, whose fellow and all too sympathetic friend he had made
himself. Naturalists are well aware of this phenomenon.
If this be so, and stupidity catching, what more potent influence of
fatty degeneration of the intellect could there be than the
uninterrupted society of sheep, with nothing in the world to think of
except their care--without even the stimulating influence of gain to
redeem the paralyzing service. The sheep are not their own, and if the
bears eat them up the keepers do not feel the stimulating ache in their
money-pocket that might tempt them, however feebly, to resist
aggression. Moreover, as a rule, they are wretchedly armed. Each of
these men carried an old six-shooter of an outlandish and forgotten
pattern, good enough to try a chance shot at another Mexican with, but
only a source of more or less pleasurable titillation to a bear, were
one ever to be discharged at him, and about as effective as pelting an
alligator with strawberries. If the last stage of misery for a horse be
to drag, along its rigid road of stone and iron, the city horse-car with
its thankless freight of fares, the corresponding degradation of the
"gun" is to rest upon the hip of a degenerate sheep-herder, half
Spaniard, half Indian and half coyote. Any self-respecting weapon
reduced to such straits would be conscious of its low estate; its
magazine would revolve in a creaky, half-hearted, reluctant fashion; it
would doubtless fire an apologetic bullet; its report would be something
between "scat" and "beg your pardon," to which a bear would pay but
slight heed. Others of the Mexicans were armed with old muskets,
somewhat rusty and ramshackly, but with a furry longitudinal perforation
throughout their length, along which--it could not creditably be called
a bore--a ball could after a fashion, if you gave it time enough, be
propelled. Leonard was exceptionally fortunate in this respect; he
carried an old rim-fire .44-40 Winchester, the action of which
occasionally worked and occasionally did not. Comparatively speaking, he
was rather a swell in the matter of firearms; but if one should put his
trust in him in case of emergency as a sheet anchor to windward, there
was always the remote possibility, were the strain too intense, that he
might not be a dependence of absolute security.
The afternoon of this day, much against my real inclination, but in
accordance with the prevailing desire, we started out, the whole rabble
of us, to follow the she grizzly's trail. It could not be called a
"still-hunt," for the reason that six men hunting in a pack are never
still; however, it did not matter. We found in a neighboring gulch bits
of the fleece, bones and hides of three sheep, and the sufficiently
plain evidence, upon the trampled and bloody ground, of recent feasts.
Yet this was the banqueting hall and not the children's nursery. A bear
thinks nothing of a little stroll of ten miles or so before or after
eating. It aids digestion, and in case of a female, as this was, wards
off an attack of the nerves. Particularly a bear with cubs would put at
least that distance between herself and hunters. Moreover they are so
clever that I doubt not this one knew already by scent and subtle
process of ratiocination how many of us there were in camp, where we
were from, the color of our hair, what sort of rifles we carried, their
caliber, how heavy a bullet and how many grains of powder they fired.
This is said in the light of after events and of further experience.
That afternoon, in our unjustifiably sanguine forecast, we had hopes of
finding this particular bear. The half-witted "Portugee," of whom I have
spoken, showed especial zeal in the presence of the _patron_, and
insisted, in spite of mild and repeated caution, in going ahead and
scrupulously investigating every possible ambuscade where there was the
remotest chance of finding the bear, or, what was much more likely, of
the bear finding him. In consideration of the fact that this was a she
one which we were after, that she was proud and well fed, and on the
lookout for pursuit, had the "Portugee" found her, she would in all
probability have received his visit with cordial warmth. Not speaking
his tongue fluently, I was unable to express my solicitude except by
signs and admonitory gestures. The rest of the party apparently seemed
to think that, while the bear was interested and occupied with him, a
good opportunity would be offered for getting in a shot; and as
Portuguese were a drug in the market in that part of California, and
grizzly bears, dead, a great rarity, he was suffered to contribute his
mite to the success of _la chasse_, and all went merrily. Not a thicket
or a den did he leave unprobed.
An hour or two were spent in beating up the gulch to its head. Then a
barren mountain side presented itself, three or four miles of it, with
no shelter. Leonard ran the trail here like a dog, literally ran it, and
the pack of hunters tailed behind him for a half or three-quarters of a
mile. A bit before sundown we were at the edge of the chaparral--a
tangle of bushes and quaking asp--rather a baddish place in which to
stumble upon her serene highness. However, my companions did me the
honor to promote me to the "Portugee's" place and function. With rifle
across the crook of arm, we stole as silently as might be--the United
States army would have made more noise--into the jungle. Sunset overtook
us up on the far edge, with a stretch of open forest in sight, and, I
doubt not, with Madam Bruin and her cubs miles ahead in some
inaccessible snarl of bushes, where the crackling underbrush would warn
her of approach as fully as could the most complete system of burglar
alarms.
That night, leaving word that whoever might be the first to stir in the
morning should call me, I unrolled my blankets under a spruce somewhat
apart from the crowd, and was soon asleep. Before daylight I was astir,
had a cup of coffee and a bite, and was off. Upon the previous afternoon
I had picked the direction I would take, which was to skirt certain
openings in the forest below. Fresh sign I saw that assured me of the
excellence of the range for bear, but I encountered nothing alive worth
powder and ball, and returned to camp about 9 o'clock. I was greeted by
Leonard with the joyful news that during my absence he had seen from
camp a big bear cross the side of the mountain only a mile or so away,
and disappear over the ridge. This happened about 7 o'clock. The chief
herder and my companion received the information somewhat in a spirit of
respectful incredulity, but Leonard assured me that it was so, and we
made preparations to follow the trail toward night. Meanwhile I
breakfasted and slept.
We left camp about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, and without the slightest
difficulty found the beast's trail exactly where the Mexican had said we
should. Before this time I had killed an odd bear or so in Colorado, and
had had some little experience in unraveling the trail of game. It may
be rather priding myself upon the accomplishment, but let me here
acknowledge the superiority of professional talent. Leonard, to all
intents and purposes, had been born and raised on a sheep range. His
earliest recollections had been of the sheep camps of the Sierras, of
the reputation of the arch-enemy of the flock and of the havoc which he
works. From infancy he, like all the herders, had been constantly upon
the lookout for bear sign; it was his one keenest intellectual
accomplishment and diversion. The result of this special training was
such an acuteness of vision and nice discrimination of eye that he could
clearly distinguish a bear's footprints upon the naked sand and gravel
where at a quick glance I was unable to see any indication whatever. A
single grain of sand displaced was sufficient to arrest his eye; he
detected it instantly. To him the minutest particle had its
weather-beaten side as well as a boulder. A bear could not put his foot
upon the ground without leaving an impress which he could detect. His
talent was so quick and unerring that we soon organized a division of
labor. He was to concentrate his energies and attention upon the trail,
while I, by his side or a step in advance, when the trail read itself
and permitted such a course, was to watch ahead and around for both of
us. Fortunately this arrangement was satisfactory to him. The hardest of
the trail to decipher was where it was written in condensed shorthand
across a mountain slide or _coulisse_ of naked granite boulders. Here
not one trace was to be found in a dozen yards. Fortunately we could
trust in the genius of the bear; he was aware, as well as La Place, that
a straight line is the shortest distance between two points. He
undoubtedly knew exactly where he was heading. We had his general
direction, and by beating about for a tuft of grass here with a blade
displaced, a stray gooseberry bush there with a leaf awry, and yonder a
patch of thicker vegetation, betraying interference, we soon succeeded,
owing mainly to Leonard's genius as a pathfinder, in getting through a
couple of acres of this most vague and illegible pedography. At last we
had the trail upon the mountain side once more, where, after such
difficulties surmounted, following it was a comparative luxury.
After having proceeded in this manner for perhaps two hours, we entered
timber, and were obliged to advance with greater caution to avoid the
slightest sound which might betray our presence and give the alarm. With
two men the risk of doing this is increased in geometrical ratio. One
person alone, traveling through the woods, may, and almost certainly
will, break an occasional twig under foot. If game is within hearing,
the sound will inevitably be detected; the deer, if it be a deer, will
lift his head and listen; but if the hunter stops and waits for a time,
the chances are that the animal will, after due interval of silence,
resume his feeding if so engaged, or his rumination, be it physical or
moral, and the alarm may not prove fatal. Not so when companions are
hunting together. It would seem as if the second man, with dreadful
promptness, never failed to snap his twig also, which sounds as loud as
a pistol coming upon the strained attention of the listening beast, who
is off like a streak, leaving the disappointed hunter, as he hears him
crashing away, to moralize that company in the chase halves the pleasure
and doubles the sorrow. The only safety where union is necessary is to
proceed with exaggerated and fantastic caution.
Leonard was a treasure in this. He had dreamt of grizzlies all his life,
yet had never been in at the death. His heart was in the hunt--he fairly
sighed for gore. We crept into the woods as silent as panthers and as
"purry" in the ardor of the chase. After a mile or so our bear had come
to an immense fallen spruce, lying across the trail, with the big butt,
five or six feet in diameter, to our right, the top pointing up the
hill. Over the middle of this, at right angles, lay another large tree,
with the point toward us. I felt that behind the first of these, if I
had been the original and unmolested settler in these parts, as the bear
was, with all the world before me where to choose, I should have made
the bed for my morning nap. It was long after daylight when he had
reached this covert. He had doubtless been stirring soon after sunset
the evening before; he had, it is not unlikely, been traveling all
night; had feasted heartily upon a sheep during that interval, and by
the time he reached this place, which may have been in his mind from the
start, was feeling comfortably lazy and inclined to the refreshment of
sleep. Behind that tree, so admirably suited for the purpose, I trusted
that he might still remain. The big end would protect a cool space from
the heat of the morning sun, and we might yet be so lucky as to find him
in his lair beneath its shelter. A signal to Leonard was enough, and we
proceeded to circle the fallen timber, which fortunately the wind
permitted, with all the caution of which we were capable. Had the
gentleman we were after been our dearest friend at the crisis of a
fever, we could not have tiptoed about his bed with more solicitude lest
we disturb sweet slumber. The big tree lay in front of us; by this we
crept at a respectful distance, and then approached the further end of
the tree lying across it. With great care I sneaked up until I could
look over its trunk at the desired point. Alas! no bear had made his
nest there.
Sorrowfully, but without a sound, I crawled upon the intervening log and
slowly stood erect. There, directly beneath me, where I could have
jumped into it most comfortably, was the deserted form of the bear,
which he had dug in the morning within an hour after Leonard had seen
him, and in which the greater part of the day had been spent, until he
had stirred abroad for water, with which to wash down the recollection
of his muttons. Although ardently hoping that he was behind the tree, I
had not in the least expected to find his bed in this particular place.
Had he stayed quietly there until our arrival, he would have given one
of us a delicious surprise, and the mutual agitation of the moment might
have induced a shot with unpremeditated haste, and possibly have caused
me to get off that fallen spruce tree in somewhat quicker time than I
had climbed it. One naturally would not feel any keen desire to display
his acrobatic skill in walking a log for the entertainment of an
infuriated grizzly. A few hairs proclaimed him a cinnamon, who is either
a variety of the grizzly or his first cousin--authorities differ; at all
events, he closely resembles him except in color, which, although of a
uniform light, fady brown, might be an extreme type of the "sorrel top"
of the Rockies. In size the cinnamon fully holds his own with the
grizzly; I should say that his head was rather longer. The generous
excavation which this one had made showed that he was no mean
representative of his species.
Not twenty yards away, and near the end of the big tree where I had
expected to find him, was a little spring. To this, still without a
word, we proceeded, saw where he had stood to drink more than once,
doubtless long and deep. To our left, in the soft earth, lay his
retreating footsteps--a continuation of the general direction of his
previous course. A moment's pause for closer scrutiny, a smile and a
whispered word exchanged--just to show that we were not bored; then,
respectful of the silence of the darkening woods, we were again upon the
trail. It was now easy to see why he had left his lair; it faced the
west, and the heat of the afternoon sun had annoyed him, warmly clad and
irritable with high living.
We had proceeded only about a stone's throw further when I caught a
glimpse of our bear. Within twenty paces, under the shadow of a tree at
the edge of a cool, umbrageous thicket, between him and the setting sun,
lay the beast we were after; or, as I for a moment thought, judging
from the great inchoate mass of brown fur, a pair, perhaps male and
female, or one, it might be, a yearling cub. With finger lifted I
signaled Leonard to stop. A great head was slowly raised and turned my
way. A bullet between the eyes and down it went again, and I threw
another cartridge into the chamber, expecting to see the second bear
spring to his feet, ready to do whatever, in his judgment, the occasion
required, either to fight or to run. Whichever he might elect to do, it
was well to be prepared. "Give him another shot," said the prudent
Leonard, and I fired a second time, sending this ball quartering and,
like the first, through the brain; then I realized that there was but
one, and he of creditable size. We soon had him out in the open, for
nothing is easier to roll about than a bear just killed. He is like a
great jelly-fish, and I have seen a little terrier no larger than a
rabbit worry and shake a great carcass four times as large as the most
commodious kennel he could desire, provided he were a sensible pup and
had the comfortable instinct of wild things for snugness rather than
ostentatious display. Enough of daylight remained for us to get his pelt
off, with head and claws unskinned and attached, and to hurry over the
mountain by moonlight with our trophy, a junk of rank meat for such as
might desire it not forgotten.
We were cordially welcomed back to camp, and, after the usual pow-wow,
the cook, with due formality, with Mexican _chile_ and Spanish
politeness, proceeded to concoct the boasted _chile con oso_--a much
overrated dish when made of a tough old cinnamon he bear. After I had
turned in I heard much laughter, and subsequently learned that it was at
an incident of the day. As we were starting out in the afternoon, and
before we had struck the bear's trail, in order to avoid any possibility
of a premature shot I had casually inquired of Leonard if he wished to
earn five dollars.
"Certainly, Senor, I am always glad to get the chance."
"Well, don't shoot then until I give the word, and you shall have it."
This circumstance Leonard had innocently narrated to the group around
the camp-fire in the fuller elaboration of the hunt, and the story had
an immediate success, the idea seeming to prevail that nothing in the
world could have tempted him to fire before he was compelled to--which,
as a matter of fact, I think was only prudent on his part, considering
the arms he bore.
The next morning, to the infinite chagrin of some of us, the younger
_patron_ discovered that his presence was required at home, where, if he
was mildly chid by my friend, his elder brother, who in generosity to
his junior had yielded his own place and the leadership of this
expedition, I should not greatly grieve.
Upon the third day thereafter we regained the ranch.
_Alden Sampson._