MY NIGHT EXPERIENCE WITH A GRIZZLY BEAR
When the leaves of the aspen and cottonwoods were turning yellow, the
scout and I drove the herd into the corral and caught horses for a
hunting trip to the mountains. That day a spirit of stubbornness
possessed our horses. From the start we had trouble. Hard as I worked I
could not hold them in line. Instead of following the scout, they hung
back and wandered from the trail. They reminded me of people. Watching
over them on the trail, they ceased to be mere beasts of burden, and
became friends with individuality and characteristics of their own.
Brownie, the most ambitious, was happier in the lead. Strong and
energetic, he was fitted for the place. Our blue horse was a nonentity;
conscientious, honest and slow, but by nature a subordinate. Old Pinto,
with a coat of red and white, had great endurance. He gave the
impression of wisdom and experience. We had a large bay horse with a
roman nose. He was headstrong and fiery, afraid of rattling things and
of ropes dangling about his heels; he carried our bedding. A sorrel
named Dandy was nervous and shy, too timid to assert himself; he was
imposed upon by the others.
Baldy, my own pack horse, was small and wiry, sure-footed as a mountain
goat, but lazy and with diabolical cunning. He was too careful of his
own safety to fall or wear himself out; sometimes he pretended to be
nervous. But in bad places he never stumbled or faltered.
That day, while we were throwing on his load, he kept his legs spread
apart and braced them firmly. He flinched and trembled as though
receiving a heavy load—more than he could bear; and on the trail he
groaned. But I took no notice of his complaints. His pack was light and
I understood his tricks. Finally he stopped and lay down in the trail;
he closed his eyes as if in pain; he trembled and gave groans that were
pitiful to hear. I jumped from my horse and ran at him with my whip. He
saw me coming and stopped suddenly in the middle of a groan. He
struggled to get up, sneezed to hide his chagrin and ran after the
outfit.
We had a buckskin horse with hide of yellow tan. His black mane and
tail, black rings around his legs, and a black streak down the center
of his back suggested a zebra ancestry. He was strong and stocky;
hardest drives did not tire him. Buck was so reliable, we felt as if we
could always depend upon him. But that day he gave us a surprise.
After a long rest at the ranch, Buck was feeling fine. When his pack
slipped, he pretended to be frightened. He made a series of high jumps,
landing stiff-legged on all fours; and gave his pack such a jolt that
it turned. Then he threw his tail into the air and away he went. To
frighten the other horses he ran among them, with pots and kettles
rattling and banging. They were glad to stampede. The scout followed
the main outfit; he took it as a matter of course. I rode after Buck
who kicked off everything, even his pack-saddle. Then I caught him and
went back over his trail, to find the precious contents of his pack and
gather together our cooking utensils and kitchen outfit.
But we finally came to the mountains and entered the valley of the
Cutbank, where there was a green forest of spruce and lodge-pole pine.
In that whole region, the only broad-leaf tree in abundance was the
aspen. The ground was covered with a soft carpet of moss and pine
needles; and thimbleberry bushes full of crimson fruit. Then we turned
into a side valley and followed a stream, where the trail was tortuous.
At every turn the scene became more wild, until we came finally to a
mass of burned and fallen trees. There we stopped to rest and feast on
red raspberries fully ripe; and found an opening thickly covered with
huckleberry bushes, bearing the largest berries I have ever seen.
There is nothing more trying than to drive obstinate pack horses
through fallen timber. The main thing is to give them plenty of time.
Sometimes they turned from the trail and went down the mountain side,
or dodged through standing timber; and then their packs were torn and
loosened by the trees.
At dusk we emerged weary from the forest and came into a basin with a
meadow of green grass. A more romantic spot for a camp I have never
seen—a narrow valley surrounded by high mountains and sheltered by
trees. Through the meadow flowed a stream of clear water. Waterfalls
dashed over the cliffs and fell into the stream below. We pitched our
lodge on a carpet of green moss, near an ancient fir tree and a grove
of spruces which sheltered us from the cold winds that sweep down the
valley from the snowfields.
Soon after we turned our horses loose, I heard a kind of grunting, or
roaring whine, answered by the frightened snorts of horses as they
galloped away; and the scout shouted: “Hi, there! A grizzly bear! A
grizzly bear!”
Among the hoofprints of the horses I found the tracks of a huge bear.
But he had gone and we got no sight of him. I saw the place where he
had been turning over stones hunting for insects and ant eggs, and
tearing up the ground after squirrels.
At dark a cold wind came down the valley, and we gathered many logs and
threw them on our camp-fire, till the big fir tree looked like a
specter in the red glow of the flames. Then we lighted our pipes and
sat by the fire. The scout had the gift of companionship; and when he
talked I always felt at ease. He refreshed me with his knowledge of
nature and of the woods, and stimulated my interest in Indians. That
night he talked about the bear and said:
“In this valley a big grizzly has his range. He has lived here so long,
he must now be very old. The Indians know him well and are afraid to
shoot at him. He comes boldly into their camps and takes food. He is so
big we believe he has supernatural power and call him the ‘Medicine
Grizzly.’”
After that there was silence for a while. The fire burned low and we
sat gazing into the embers. By this time the valley was in darkness;
but I saw the rugged outlines of the mountains against the sky, their
snowy summits lighted by myriads of brilliant stars. I heard the
rippling of the stream, the sound of the waterfall and the tinkle of
the horse-bell where our herd were feeding. Then a wailing cry,
probably the voice of some lynx or wolverine, arose from the depths of
the forest. It made me think of the big grizzly in whose range we were
camped. Little did I realize I would soon meet him face to face.
For several days the scout and I hunted on the mountains. We climbed to
timber-line with its dwarfed and distorted trees. Above were the rocky
heights and below the dark forest. In the front line were trees only a
few feet in height, many hundreds of years old. Some were pushed partly
over by storms and had all their branches pointing one way. They were
battered and twisted by a thousand storms and overweighted by heavy
snows. But we found no game, not even tracks.
Then the scout said he would go among the high peaks at the head of the
valley. He took a light pack and went alone, while I stayed in our camp
to guard the provisions and to look after the horses. In order to help
in the hunt, I loaned him my large Winchester rifle of 45–70 caliber.
Little did I realize how much I would need it myself.
After the scout had gone, I climbed the mountains for camera pictures,
caught trout in the stream and looked after our horses. Most of the
provisions I stored inside the lodge, to be safe from wild animals and
sudden storms. But I had an out-of-door kitchen at the edge of the
woods, where I cooked in good weather and kept a supply of food.
One afternoon heavy clouds gathered over the mountains and a storm
swept through the valley. Our horses left the meadow and came to the
lodge, to pay me a little visit and to get a bite of salt all around;
and then they strolled back again.
I passed that evening reading and writing by the lodge-fire. Finally I
lay in my blankets and watched the fire burn low, until there was only
a bed of glowing embers; and I fell asleep. In the dead of night, our
horses wakened me by coming close to the lodge. I wondered at their
leaving their feeding grounds again, and went out to drive them back.
The storm was over. The clouds had broken and the moon was shining.
After the horses had gone, there was quiet. The wind had fallen and
there was a strange stillness. I stood for a moment and looked
reverently at the mystic mountains in the moonlight. I felt that uplift
of spirit that I always have in the presence of giant peaks. I heard
the solemn hooting of an owl, the distant cries of coyotes, and the
rippling of the river rapids.
The night air was so cold I soon went back to my warm blankets. But I
could not sleep; I had a feeling that something was near. Finally I
raised myself and listened. Suddenly a rattling of pans came from my
outside kitchen. Thinking one of the horses had come back, I jumped
from my blankets. I seized a stick and ran out to investigate. A huge
shadowy form stood against the black line of the forest. It looked like
a horse and I was about to hurl my club; but this animal was no horse.
It stood high in front and was low behind. It gazed steadily at me with
lowered head, which moved slowly from side to side. Then came a sudden
snort, a sort of snarling whine; and I realized that I was in close
quarters with a huge grizzly bear. The thought of beating him with a
stick made a chill run down my backbone; I felt weak in the knees; and
I had the sensation of “my hair standing on end.”
I remembered hearing that it was sure death to run from a grizzly bear,
so I put on a bold front and backed slowly into the lodge. I started to
build a fire; I thought the light might drive him off. But I was so
excited it seemed ages before I could find either matches or knife. Had
I my rifle I might have tried to shoot him; but we were in such close
quarters and in the dark, he might have killed me.
No sooner had I a fire burning, than I heard his heavy footsteps; he
was coming towards the lodge, but stopped near the door to examine my
saddle. For a moment he stood sniffing and grunting; then came close to
the side of the tepee, where we had the provisions stored. He raised
himself on his hind legs, with front paws against the poles. I was
directly underneath him; I saw the canvas press in and heard his heavy
breathing. It seemed like a nightmare; again my hair stood on end. I
shouted; and the sound of my own voice in that dimly lighted tepee
sounded strange and far away. Then the bear got down on all fours and
went back to his feast at my outside kitchen.
Believing the crisis was now past and that the old grizzly would do me
no harm, I began to take a friendly interest and watched him through an
opening in the door. He knocked a cover from a mess of trout; finished
a bowl of delicious peaches and tore open bags of flour and sugar. At
last he came to our “dutch oven,” a heavy iron kettle for baking bread.
In it I had stored, for safe-keeping, my greatest delicacy—a small
piece of butter. For a moment his efforts were vain; the heavy iron lid
held fast. Then he became angry; with his powerful forepaw he struck
the kettle such a blow that the cover flew off; and I heard his rough
tongue lick up the last of my provisions.
At the first sign of dawn, my dangerous visitor departed suddenly into
the forest and I saw him no more. When the scout returned from his
hunt, I showed him the tracks of the grizzly’s huge feet and the marks
of his long claws in the soft earth. They measured thirteen inches in
length, seven inches across the toe and six at the heel. The scout said
a grizzly of that size would weigh as much as a large horse. By the
lodge-fire that night, he told me about the origin of the “Medicine
Grizzly.”
STORY OF THE MEDICINE GRIZZLY
“The things I now tell you happened many years ago, when Mad Wolf,
your Indian father, was a young man. He was the war chief of an
expedition that went across the Rocky Mountains against the
Flathead Indians. Two of his brothers were with him; but they both
turned back before they reached the Flathead country. Mad Wolf and
his warriors returned later by Cutbank Pass.
“Mad Wolf was riding in the lead, with the others following on both
sides of the trail, as was the custom of war parties in those days.
For fear of meeting enemies, they rode silently through the forest.
Suddenly Mad Wolf heard footsteps and signed for the others to
hide. It was a war party of Kutenai Indians. They ran into the
ambush. In the fight, Mad Wolf singled out the Kutenai chief and
killed him after a hard fight. On his body he found the scalps of
his own two brothers, who had turned back. Mad Wolf sang his war
song and ran back to help the rest of his party, who were by this
time retreating. He roused them to fight harder; and together they
killed all of the Kutenai, except one old woman. They spared her
life and gave her to the Sun. They took the scalps from the dead
Kutenai warriors and had a scalp dance. Then they painted the face
of the old woman black. They spared her life and set her free, as a
sacrifice to the Sun. They gave her food and presents—a warm
blanket and dried meat. They put her on the right trail and started
her towards home, with a prayer that the Sun would pity them, as
they had their helpless enemy.
“After that Mad Wolf and his party crossed the summit and came down
through Cutbank Valley. There they found the camp of some of our
people, Running Wolf, Black Bear, and Middle Calf, who came into
the mountains to cut lodge-poles. They were camped here, by this
old fir tree.
“That evening they were all gathered at the lodge of Middle Calf to
hear about Mad Wolf’s trip. It was a warm moonlight night and some
of the women were outside. Middle Calf told his wife to bring a
pail of water from the stream. She came back frightened. She said:
‘I met a stranger at the crossing. He jumped across the stream and
ran into the forest.’
“Then another woman said: ‘I just saw a man near the big fir tree.
He looked into the lodge and ran away. He was an enemy. I could see
his war bonnet.’
“Mad Wolf and the rest seized their weapons and ran out. They met a
band of Gros Ventres who were ready to attack their camp. They
killed all of the Gros Ventres except their leader. He escaped into
the underbrush and stood them off. When his arrows were all gone,
he fought savagely with his knife. All the time he made a noise
like a grizzly bear. He dared the Blackfoot to come into the
thicket. He kept shouting: ‘Come on! I am not afraid. My power is
very great.’
“After the Blackfoot had killed him, they found that he was a
medicine man; his power came from the grizzly bear. He wore the
skin of a grizzly and had a necklace of big claws about his neck.
They scalped the dead Gros Ventres warriors and had a scalp dance
around a fire. But they burned the body of their leader; they were
afraid some of his supernatural power might escape and do them
harm.
“The summer after that, a party of Indians came into Cutbank
Valley, to this same meadow. They pitched their lodges near this
old fir tree where we are now camped—the place where you saw the
big bear. That night this same grizzly came into their camp and
took all the food he wanted. The dogs attacked him; but he killed
some and put the rest to flight. He was so big they were afraid to
shoot. We call him the Medicine Grizzly. We believe he is the
medicine man of the Gros Ventres. When he was killed near this old
fir tree, he changed himself into a grizzly bear.”