WHEN MONARCH WAS FREE.
For several years a large Grizzly roamed through the rugged mountain's
in the northern part of Los Angeles county, raiding cattle ranges and
bee ranches and occasionally falling afoul of a settler or prospector.
He was at home on Mt. Gleason, but his forays took in Big Tejunga and
extended for twenty or thirty miles along the range. Every settler
knew the bear and had a name for him, and he went by as many aliases as
a burglar in active practice. As his depredations ceased after the
capture of Monarch in 1889, those who assert that Monarch was the
wanderer of the Sierra Madre and Big Tejunga may be right, and some of
the stories told about him may be true.
Jeff Martin, a cattleman, who lived in Antelope Valley, and drove his
stock into the mountains in summer, had several meetings with the big
bear, but never managed to get the best of him. When the Monarch
didn't win, the fight was a draw. Jeff had an old buckskin horse that
would follow a bear track as readily as a burro will follow a trail,
and could be ridden up to within a few yards of the game. Jeff and the
old buckskin met the Monarch on a trail and started a bear fight right
away. The Monarch, somewhat surprised at the novel idea of a man
disputing his right of way, stood upright and looked at Jeff, who
raised his Winchester and began working the lever with great industry.
Jeff was never known to lie extravagantly about a bear-fight, and when
he told how he pumped sixteen forty-four calibre bullets smack into the
Monarch's shaggy breast and never "fazed" him, nobody openly doubted
Jeff's story.
He said the Monarch stood up and took the bombardment as nonchalantly
as he would a fusilade from a pea-shooter, appearing to be only amazed
at the cheek of the man and the buckskin horse. When Jeff's rifle was
empty, he turned and spurred his horse back down the trail, followed by
the bear, who kept up the chase about a mile and then disappeared in
the brush. Jeff's theory was that the heavy mass of hair on the bear's
breast effectually protected him from the bullets, which do not have
great penetrating power when fired from a forty-four Winchester with a
charge of only forty grains of powder.
About a week after that adventure the Monarch called at Martin's summer
camp on Gleason Mountain to get some beef. It was about midnight when
he climbed into the corral. The only beef in the corral that night was
on the bones of a tough and ugly bull, and as soon as the Monarch
dropped to the ground from the fence he got into trouble. The bull was
spoiling for a fight, and he charged on the bear without waiting for
the call of time, taking him amidships and bowling him over in the mud
before the Monarch knew what was coming. Jeff was aroused by the
disturbance and went over to see what was up. He saw two huge bulks
charging around in the corral, banging up against the sides and making
the dirt fly in all directions, and he heard the bellowing of the old
bull and the hoarse growls of the bear. They were having a strenuous
time all by themselves, and Jeff decided to let them fight it out in
their own way without any interference. Returning to the cabin, he
said to his son Jesse and an Indian who worked for him: "It's that
d----d old Grizzly having a racket with the old bull, but I reckon the
bull is old enough to take care of himself. We'll bar the door and let
'em go it."
So they barred the door and listened to the sounds of the battle. In
less than a quarter of an hour the Monarch got a beautiful licking and
concluded that he didn't want any beef for supper. The bull was tough,
anyway, and he would rather make a light meal off the grub in the
cabin. Jeff heard a great scratching and scrambling as the Monarch
began climbing out of the corral. Then there was a roar and a rush, a
heavy thud as the bull's forehead struck the Monarch's rear elevation,
a growl of pain and surprise and the fall of half a ton or more of bear
meat on the ground outside of the corral.
"I reckon the old bull has made that cuss lose his appetite," chuckled
Jeff. "He won't come fooling around this ranch any more. I'll bet
he's the sorest bear that ever wore hair."
The three men in the cabin were laughing and enjoying the triumph of
the bull when "whang!" came something against the door, and they all
jumped for their guns. It was the discomfited but not discouraged
Monarch breaking into the cabin in search of his supper. With two or
three blows of his ponderous paw the grizzly smashed the door to
splinters, but as he poked his head in he met a volley from two rifles
and a shotgun. He looked at Jeff reproachfully for the inhospitable
reception, turned about and went away, more in sorrow than in anger.
Jeff Martin's next meeting with the Monarch was in the Big Tejunga. He
and his son Jesse were hunting deer along the side of the canyon, when
they saw a big bear in the brush about a hundred yards up the hill.
Both fired at the same moment and one ball at least hit the bear.
Uttering a roar of pain, the grizzly snapped viciously at his shoulder
where the bullet struck, and as he turned his head he saw the two
hunters, who then recognized the Monarch by his huge bulk and grizzled
front. The Monarch came with a rush like an avalanche down the
mountain side, breaking through the manzanita brush and smashing down
young trees as easily as a man tramples down grass. His lowered head
offered no fair mark for a bullet, and he came on with such speed that
only a chance shot could have hit him anywhere. Jeff and his son Jess
did not try any experiments of that kind, but dropped their rifles and
shinned up a tree as fast as they could. They were none too rapid, as
Jeff left a piece of one bootleg in the Monarch's possession. The
Monarch was not a bear to fool away much time on a man up a tree, and
as soon as he discovered that the hunters were out of reach he went
away and disappeared in the brush. The two men came down, picked up
their guns and decided to have another shot at the Monarch if they
could find him. They knew better than to go into the brush after a
bear, but they hunted cautiously about the edges for some time. They
were sure that the Monarch was still in there, but they could not
ascertain at what point. Jeff went around to windward of the brush
patch and set fire to it, and then joined Jess on the leeward side to
watch for the reappearance of the Monarch. The wind was blowing fresh
up the canyon and the fire ran rapidly through the dry brush, making a
thick smoke and great noise. When the Monarch came out he came rapidly
and from an unexpected quarter, and the two hunters had just time
enough to break for their tree again and get out of reach.
This time the Monarch did not leave them. He sat down at the foot of
the tree and watched with malicious patience. The wind increased and
the fire spread on all sides, and in a few minutes it became
uncomfortably warm up the tree. The bear kept on the side of the tree
opposite the advancing fire and waited for the men to come down. Jeff
and Jess got a little protection from the heat by hugging the leeward
side of the trunk, but it became evident that the tree would soon be in
a blaze, and unless they jumped and ran within the next minute or two
they would be surrounded by fire. They hoped that the Grizzly would
weaken first, but he showed no signs of an intention to leave. When
the flames began crawling up the windward side of the tree and the heat
became unbearable, Jeff said:
"Jess, which would you rather take chances on, Grizzly or fire?"
"Dad, I think I'll chance the bear," replied Jess, covering his face
with his arm.
"All right. When I say go, jump and run as though you were scooting
through hell with a keg of powder under your arm."
Jeff and Jess crawled out on the limbs and swung by their hands for a
moment, and at the word they dropped to the ground within ten feet of
the bear and lit out like scared wolves. They broke right through the
burning brush, getting their hair singed as they went. The bear
started after them, but he was afraid to go through the fire, and while
he was finding a way out of the circle of burning brush and timber,
Jeff and Jess struck out down the mountain side, making about fifteen
feet at a jump, and never stopped running until they got to the creek
and out of the bear's sight.