THE RIGHT OF WAY.
"It was pretty late in the season," said my friend, the prospector,
"when I took a notion that I'd like to see what sort of a country lies
north of the Umpqua River, in Oregon, and I struck into the mountains
from Drain Station with my prospecting outfit and as much grub as I
could pack upon my horse. After leaving Elk Creek I followed a hunting
trail for a day, but after that it was rough scrambling up and down
mountain sides and through gulches, and the horse and I had a pretty
tough time. The Umpqua Mountains are terribly steep and wild and it's
no fool of a job to cross them.
"There is any amount of game in those mountains, and where I went it
never is hunted, and, therefore, not hard to find. If I had cared to
shoot much, I could have killed a great many bears, but I wasn't in
there for fun so much as for business, and I didn't shoot but one.
Bear meat is no good at any time unless a man is starving, according to
my notions, and in the summer it is worse than no good. Before berries
are ripe a bear goes around clawing the bark from logs and dead trees
and feeds on the borers and ants. He has a banquet when he strikes a
well-populated ant heap, and then he smells and tastes like ants if you
try to eat him. His meat is rank, and if you eat it for a day or two
you will break out all over with a sort of rash that is mightily
uncomfortable. There is no fur on a bear in summer and his skin is not
worth taking, so you see there was no reason why I should fool away
time and cartridges on Bruin. Besides, I rather like Bruin for his
comical ways, and when he doesn't bother me, I'd rather watch him than
shoot at him.
"I had to kill one big brown fellow, because he wouldn't get out of my
way and my horse was afraid to pass him. He was on a narrow ridge that
I was following in order to keep out of the heavy timber, and the bear
sat upon his haunches right in my way. Probably he never saw a man
before, for he didn't seem to be in the least disturbed when I hove in
sight leading the horse. I supposed he would drop on all fours and
scuttle away, but not a bit of it. He had struck something new and was
going to see the whole show. There he sat, with his forepaws hanging
down and his head cocked on one side, looking at the procession with
the liveliest curiosity in his face. There was nothing wicked in his
appearance, and if it hadn't been for the horse I think I would have
passed within three yards of him without any trouble. As it was, I
dragged the horse up to within twenty feet, but then he hung back,
snorted and protested so vigorously that I was afraid he would back
over the edge and fall down the steep mountain side.
"Letting the horse back away a few yards, I tied his halter to a scrub
tree and then advanced toward the bear with my rifle in my left hand.
He didn't budge, and when I yelled at him he only started a little and
cocked his head over on the other side. That made me laugh, and then I
amused myself by talking to him. 'Why don't you move?' said I. 'I
know you got here first and have a squatter claim on the
quarter-section, but you ought not to sit down on public travel in that
way.' He looked at me as though I was the oddest specimen he ever came
across, and scratched his ear with his left paw.
"'You musn't mind my friend here,' I said, pointing to the horse; 'he's
a little shy in society, but he means well. If you'll move to one
side, we'll pass on.' It was a fool sort of an idea, standing there
and talking to a bear, but I was interested in studying the expression
of his face and seeing how puzzled he seemed to be at the sound of my
voice. He'd rub his ear or his nose once in a while, and then look up,
as though he were saying: 'Just repeat that; I don't quite make out
what you are driving at,' and then he'd assume a look of the most
intense interest. I don't know how long he would have remained there,
but I got tired of the fun and threw a stick at him. It would have hit
him on the nose, but he warded it off very cleverly, and then his
manner changed. He growled a little and began swaying his head from
side to side, and when I saw the green glint come into his eyes--the
danger signal that all the carnivorae flash and all hunters heed--I
knew the time was up for airy persiflage and that I was in for a
'scambling and unquiet time' unless I promptly took up the quarrel. It
was an easy shot, through the throat to the base of the skull, and the
bullet smashed the spinal cord.
"That was the only bear, other than a Grizzly, that I ever saw dispute
the right of way of a man through the woods."