I stopped off at Spokane Falls, on my way home, for a few days' deer
hunting, and though that region be not exactly in the Cascades, it is so
near that a few points in relation to the sport there may be admissible
in connection with the foregoing narrative. I had advised my good
friend, Dr. C. S. Penfield, of my coming, and he had kindly planned for
me a hunting trip. On the morning after my arrival his brother-in-law,
Mr. T. E. Jefferson, took me up behind a pair of good roadsters and
drove to Johnston's ranch, eighteen miles from the falls, and near the
foot of Mount Carleton, where we hoped to find plenty of deer. We hunted
there two days, and though we found signs reasonably plentiful and saw
three or four deer we were unable to kill any. Mr. Jefferson burned some
powder after a buck and a doe the first morning after our arrival, but
it was his first experience in deer hunting, so it is not at all strange
that the game should have escaped. Mr. Jefferson was compelled to return
home at that time on account of a business engagement, but Mr. Johnston,
with characteristic Western hospitality and kindness, said I must not
leave without a shot, and so hooked up his team and drove me twenty-five
miles farther into the mountains, to a place where he said we would
surely find plenty of game. On the way in we picked up old Billy
Cowgill, a famous deer hunter in this region, and took him along as
guide. We stopped at Brooks' stage ranch, on the Colville road to rest
the team, and the proprietor gave us an amusing account of some
experiments he had been making in shooting buckshot from a
muzzle-loading shotgun. He had made some little bags of buckskin, just
large enough to hold twelve No. 2 buckshot, and after filling them had
sewed up the ends. He shot a few of them at a tree sixty yards away, but
they failed to spread and all went into one hole. Then he tried leaving
the front end of the bag open, and still they acted as a solid ball; so
he had to abandon the scheme, and loaded the charge loose, as of old. He
concluded, however, not to fire this last load at the target, and hung
the gun up in its usual place. A few days later he heard the dog barking
in the woods a short distance from the house, and supposed it had treed
a porcupine. Mr. Brooks' brother, who was visiting at the time, took the
gun and went out to kill the game, whatever it might be. On reaching the
place, he found a ruffed grouse sitting in a tree, at which he fired.
The ranchman said he heard the report, and his brother soon came back,
carrying a badly-mutilated bird; he threw it into the kitchen, and put
the gun away; then he sat down, looked thoughtful, and kept silent for a
long time. Finally he blurted out:
[Illustration: THE STAGE RANCH.]
"Say, Tom; that gun got away from me."
"How was that?" queried the ranchman.
"I don't know; but I shot pretty near straight up at the grouse, and
somehow the gun slipped off my shoulder and done this." And opening his
coat he showed his vest, one side of which was split from top to bottom;
he then took out a handful of his watch and held it up--one case was
torn off, the crystal smashed, the dial caved in, and the running gear
all mixed up. The ranchman said he guessed he had put one of the
buckskin bags of shot into that barrel, and forgetting that fact, had
added the loose charge. He said he reckoned twenty-four No. 2 buckshot
made too heavy a load for an eight-pound gun.
We reached "Peavine Jimmy's" mining cabin, which was to be our camp, at
three o'clock in the afternoon, and busied ourselves till dark in the
usual duties of cooking, eating, and gathering wood. Old Billy proved a
very interesting character; he is a simple, quiet, honest, unpretentious
old man, and unlike most backwoodsmen, a veritable coward. He has the
rare good sense, however, to admit it frankly, and thus disarms
criticism. In fact, his frequent admission of this weakness is amusing.
He says that for fear of getting lost he does not like to go off a trail
when hunting, unless there is snow on the ground, so that he can track
himself back into camp. He rides an old buckskin pony that is as modest
and gentle as its master. Billy says he often gets lost when he does
venture away from the trail, but in such cases he just gives old Buck
the rein, hits him a slap, and tells him to go to camp and he soon gets
there. He told us a bear story that night, worthy of repetition.
Something was said that reminded him of it, and he mentioned it, but
added, modestly, that he didn't know as we cared for any bear stories.
But we said we were very fond of them, and urged the recital.
"Well, then," he said, "if you will wait a minute, I'll take a drink of
water first and then I'll tell it to you," and he laughed a kind of
boyish titter, and began:
"Well, me and three other fellers was up north in the Colville country,
huntin', and all the other fellows was crazy to kill a bear. I didn't
want to kill no bear, and didn't expect to. I'm as 'feard as death of a
bear, and hain't no use for 'em. All I wanted to kill was a deer. The
other fellers, they wanted to kill some deer, too, but they wanted bear
the worst. So one mornin' we all started out, and the other fellers they
took the best huntin' ground, and said I'd better go down along the
creek and see if I couldn't kill some grouse, for they didn't believe I
could kill any thing bigger'n that; and I said, all right, and started
off down the creek. Purty soon I come to an old mill that wasn't runnin'
then. And when I got purty near to the mill I set down on a log, for I
didn't think it was worth while to go any furder, for I didn't think I
would find any game down the creek, and I didn't care much whether I did
or not. Well, I heard a kind of a racket in the mill, and durned if
there wasn't a big black bear right in the mill. And I watched him a
little bit, and he started out towards me. And I said to myself, says I,
'Now Billy, here's your chance to kill a bear.'
"I hadn't never killed no bear before, nor never seed one before, and
durned if I wasn't skeered nearly to death. But I thought there wasn't
no use of runnin', for I knowed he could run faster'n I could, so I took
out my knife and commenced cuttin' down the brush in front of me, for I
wanted to make a shure shot if I did shoot, if I could. And the bear,
he come out of the mill and rared up, and put his paws on a log and
looked at me, and I said to myself, says I, 'Now Billy, this is your
time to shoot'; but I wasn't ready to shoot yit. They was one more bush
I wanted to cut out of the way before I shot, so I cut if off and laid
down my knife, and then I took up my gun and tried to take aim at his
breast, but doggoned if I didn't shake so I couldn't see the sights at
all. And I thought one time I wouldn't shoot, and then I knowed the
other fellers would laugh at me if I told 'em I seed a bear and didn't
shoot at him, and besides I was afraid some of 'em was up on the
hillside lookin' at me then. So I just said to myself, says I, 'Now
Billy, you're goin' to get eat up if you don't kill him, but you might
as well be eat up as to be laughed at.' So I jist took the best aim I
could for shakin', an' shet both eyes an' pulled.
"Well, I think the bear must a begin to git down jist as I pulled, for I
tore his lower jaw off and shot a big hole through one side of his neck.
He howled and roared and rolled around there awhile and then he got
still. I got round where I could see him, after he quit kickin', but I
was afeared to go up to him, so I shot two more bullets through his head
to make sure of him. And then I set down and waited a long while to see
if he moved any more; for I was afeard he mightn't be dead yit, and
might be playin' possum, jist to get ahold of me. But he didn't move no
more, so I went up to him with my gun cocked and pointed at his head, so
if he did move I could give him another one right quick. An' then I
punched him a little with my gun, but he didn't stir. An' when I found
he was real dead I took my knife and cut off one of his claws, an' then
I went back to camp, the biggest feelin' old cuss you ever seed.
"Well, arter while the other fellers they all come in, lookin' mighty
blue, for they hadn't any of 'em killed a thing, an' when I told 'em I'd
killed a bear, they wouldn't believe it till I showed 'em the claw. An'
then they wouldn't believe it, neither, for they thought I'd bought the
claw of some Injin. And they wouldn't believe it at all till they went
out with me and seed the bear and helped skin 'im, and cut 'im up, and
pack 'im into camp. An' they was the dog-gondest, disappointedest lot of
fellers you ever seed, for we hunted five days longer, an' nary one of
'em got to kill a bear nor even see one. They thought I was the poorest
hunter and the biggest coward in the lot, but I was the only one that
killed a bear that clip."