night, and after supper they related a number of interesting
experiences. Among these tales was one of the best bear-stories I have
ever heard. The story was told in the graphic, earnest, realistic
style so often possessed by those who have lived strong, stirring
lives among crags and pines. Although twenty years had gone by, these
prospectors still had a vivid recollection of that lively night when
they were besieged by three bears, and in recounting the experience
they mingled many good word-pictures of bear behavior with their
exciting and amusing story. "This happened to us," said Sullivan, "in
spite of the fact that we were minding our own business and had never
hunted bears."
The siege occurred at their log cabin during the spring of 1884. They
were prospecting in Geneva Park, where they had been all winter,
driving a tunnel. They were so nearly out of supplies that they could
not wait for snowdrifts to melt out of the trail. Provisions must be
had, and Sullivan thought that, by allowing twice the usual time, he
could make his way down through the drifts and get back to the cabin
with them. So one morning, after telling Jason that he would be back
the next evening, he took their burro and set off down the mountain.
On the way home next day Sullivan had much difficulty in getting the
loaded burro through the snowdrifts, and when within a mile of the
cabin, they stuck fast. Sullivan unpacked and rolled the burro out of
the snow, and was busily repacking, when the animal's uneasiness made
him look round.
[Illustration: OURAY, COLORADO
A typical mining town]
In the edge of the woods, only a short distance away, were three
bears, apparently a mother and her two well-grown children. They were
sniffing the air eagerly and appeared somewhat excited. The old bear
would rise on her hind paws, sniff the air, then drop back to the
ground. She kept her nose pointed toward Sullivan, but did not appear
to look at him. The smaller bears moved restlessly about; they
would walk a few steps in advance, stand erect, draw their fore paws
close to their breasts, and sniff, sniff, sniff the air, upward and
in all directions before them. Then they would slowly back up to the
old bear. They all seemed very good-natured.
When Sullivan was unpacking the burro, the wrapping had come off two
hams which were among the supplies, and the wind had carried the
delicious aroma to the bears, who were just out of their winter dens
after weeks of fasting. Of course, sugar-cured hams smelled good to
them. Sullivan repacked the burro and went on. The bears quietly eyed
him for some distance. At a turn in the trail he looked back and saw
the bears clawing and smelling the snow on which the provisions had
lain while he was getting the burro out of the snowdrift. He went on
to the cabin, had supper, and forgot the bears.
The log cabin in which he and Jason lived was a small one; it had a
door in the side and a small window in one end. The roof was made of
a layer of poles thickly covered with earth. A large shepherd-dog often
shared the cabin with the prospectors. He was a playful fellow, and
Sullivan often romped with him. Near their cabin were some vacant
cabins of other prospectors, who had "gone out for the winter" and
were not yet back for summer prospecting.
The evening was mild, and as soon as supper was over Sullivan filled
his pipe, opened the door, and sat down on the edge of the bed for a
smoke, while Jason washed the dishes. He had taken only a few pulls at
his pipe when there was a rattling at the window. Thinking the dog was
outside, Sullivan called, "Why don't you go round to the door?" This
invitation was followed by a momentary silence, then smash! a piece of
sash and fragments of window-glass flew past Sullivan and rattled on
the floor. He jumped to his feet. In the dim candle-light he saw a
bear's head coming in through the window. He threw his pipe of burning
tobacco into the bear's face and eyes, and then grabbed for some steel
drills which lay in the corner on the floor. The earth roof had
leaked, and the drills were ice-covered and frozen fast to the floor.
While Sullivan was dislodging the drills, Jason began to bombard the
bear vigorously with plates from the table. The bear backed out; she
was looking for food, not clean plates. However, the instant she was
outside, she accepted Sullivan's invitation and went round to the
door! And she came for it with a rush! Both Sullivan and Jason jumped
to close the door. They were not quick enough, and instead of one bear
there were three! The entire family had accepted the invitation, and
all were trying to come in at once!
When Sullivan and Jason threw their weight against the door it slammed
against the big bear's nose,--a very sensitive spot. She gave a savage
growl. Apparently she blamed the two other bears either for hurting
her nose or for being in the way. At any rate, a row started; halfway
in the door the bears began to fight; for a few seconds it seemed as
if all the bears would roll inside. Sullivan and Jason pushed against
the door with all their might, trying to close it. During the struggle
the bears rolled outside and the door went shut with a bang. The heavy
securing cross-bar was quickly put into place; but not a moment too
soon, for an instant later the old bear gave a furious growl and flung
herself against the door, making it fairly crack; it seemed as if the
door would be broken in. Sullivan and Jason hurriedly knocked their
slab bed to pieces and used the slats and heavy sides to prop and
strengthen the door. The bears kept surging and clawing at the door,
and while the prospectors were spiking the braces against it and
giving their entire attention to it, they suddenly felt the cabin
shake and heard the logs strain and give. They started back, to see
the big bear struggling in the window. Only the smallness of the
window had prevented the bear from getting in unnoticed, and
surprising them while they were bracing the door. The window was so
small that the bear in trying to get in had almost wedged fast. With
hind paws on the ground, fore paws on the window-sill, and shoulders
against the log over the window, the big bear was in a position to
exert all her enormous strength. Her efforts to get in sprung the logs
and gave the cabin the shake which warned.
Sullivan grabbed one of the steel drills and dealt the bear a terrible
blow on the head. She gave a growl of mingled pain and fury as she
freed herself from the window. Outside she backed off growling.
For a little while things were calmer. Sullivan and Jason, drills in
hand, stood guard at the window. After some snarling in front of the
window the bears went round to the door. They clawed the door a few
times and then began to dig under it. "They are tunneling in for us,"
said Sullivan. "They want those hams; but they won't get them."
After a time the bears quit digging and started away, occasionally
stopping to look hesitatingly back. It was almost eleven o'clock, and
the full moon shone splendidly through the pines. The prospectors
hoped that the bears were gone for good. There was an old rifle in
the cabin, but there were no cartridges, for Sullivan and Jason never
hunted and rarely had occasion to fire a gun. But, fearing that the
animals might return, Sullivan concluded to go to one of the vacant
cabins for a loaded Winchester which he knew to be there.
As soon as the bears disappeared, he crawled out of the window and
looked cautiously around; then he made a run for the vacant cabin.
The bears heard him running, and when he had nearly reached the cabin,
they came round the corner of it to see what was the matter. He was up
a pine tree in an instant. After a few growls the bears moved off and
disappeared behind a vacant cabin. As they had gone behind the cabin
which contained the loaded gun, Sullivan thought it would be dangerous
to try to make the cabin, for if the door should be swelled fast, the
bears would surely get him. Waiting until he thought it safe to
return, he dropped to the ground and made a dash for his own cabin.
The bears heard him and again gave chase, with the evident intention
of getting even for all their annoyances. It was only a short distance
to his cabin, but the bears were at his heels when he dived in through
the broken window.
A bundle of old newspapers was then set on fire and thrown among the
bears, to scare them away. There was some snarling, until one of the
young bears with a stroke of a fore paw scattered the blazing papers
in all directions; then the bears walked round the cabin-corner out
of sight and remained quiet for several minutes.
Just as Jason was saying, "I hope they are gone for good," there came
a thump on the roof which told the prospectors that the bears were
still intent on the hams. The bears began to claw the earth off the
roof. If they were allowed to continue, they would soon clear off the
earth and would then have a chance to tear out the poles. With a few
poles torn out, the bears would tumble into the cabin, or perhaps
their combined weight might cause the roof to give way and drop them
into the cabin. Something had to be done to stop their clawing and if
possible get them off the roof. Bundles of hay were taken out of the
bed mattress. From time to time Sullivan would set fire to one of
these bundles, lean far out through the window, and throw the blazing
hay upon the roof among the bears. So long as he kept these fireworks
going, the bears did not dig; but they stayed on the roof and became
furiously angry. The supply of hay did not last long, and as soon as
the annoyance from the bundles of fire ceased, the bears attacked the
roof again with renewed vigor.
Then it was decided to prod the bears with red-hot drills thrust up
between the poles of the roof. As there was no firewood in the cabin,
and as fuel was necessary in order to heat the drills, a part of the
floor was torn up for that purpose.
The young bears soon found hot drills too warm for them and scrambled
or fell off the roof. But the old one persisted. In a little while she
had clawed off a large patch of earth and was tearing the poles with
her teeth.
The hams had been hung up on the wall in the end of the cabin; the old
bear was tearing just above them. Jason threw the hams on the floor
and wanted to throw them out of the window. He thought that the bears
would leave contented if they had them. Sullivan thought differently;
he said that it would take six hams apiece to satisfy the bears, and
that two hams would be only a taste which would make the bears more
reckless than ever. The hams stayed in the cabin.
The old bear had torn some of the poles in two and was madly tearing
and biting at others. Sullivan was short and so were the drills. To
get within easier reach, he placed the table almost under the gnawing
bear, sprang upon it, and called to Jason for a red-hot drill. Jason
was about to hand him one when he noticed a small bear climbing in at
the window, and, taking the drill with him, he sprang over to beat
the bear back. Sullivan jumped down to the fire for a drill, and in
climbing back on the table he looked up at the gnawed hole and
received a shower of dirt in his face and eyes. This made him flinch
and he lost his balance and upset the table. He quickly straightened
the table and sprang upon it, drill in hand. The old bear had a paw
and arm thrust down through the hole between the poles. With a blind
stroke she struck the drill and flung it and Sullivan from the table.
He shouted to Jason for help, but Jason, with both young bears trying
to get in at the window at once, was striking right and left. He had
bears and troubles of his own and did not heed Sullivan's call. The
old bear thrust her head down through the hole and seemed about to
fall in, when Sullivan in desperation grabbed both hams and threw them
out of the window.
The young bears at once set up a row over the hams, and the old bear,
hearing the fight, jumped off the roof and soon had a ham in her
mouth.
While the bears were fighting and eating, Sullivan and Jason tore up
the remainder of the floor and barricaded the window. With both door
and window closed, they could give their attention to the roof. All
the drills were heated, and both stood ready to make it hot for the
bears when they should again climb on the roof. But the bears did not
return to the roof. After eating the last morsel of the hams they
walked round to the cabin door, scratched it gently, and then became
quiet. They had lain down by the door.
It was two o'clock in the morning. The inside of the cabin was in
utter confusion. The floor was strewn with wreckage; bedding, drills,
broken boards, broken plates, and hay were scattered about. Sullivan
gazed at the chaos and remarked that it looked like poor housekeeping.
But he was tired, and, asking Jason to keep watch for a while, he lay
down on the blankets and was soon asleep.
Toward daylight the bears got up and walked a few times round the
cabin. On each round they clawed at the door, as though to tell
Sullivan that they were there, ready for his hospitality. They whined
a little, half good-naturedly, but no one admitted them, and finally,
just before sunrise, they took their departure and went leisurely
smelling their way down the trail.
Mountain Parks and Camp-Fires
The Rockies of Colorado cross the State from north to south in two
ranges that are roughly parallel and from thirty to one hundred miles
apart. There are a number of secondary ranges in the State that are
just as marked, as high, and as interesting as the main ranges, and
that are in every way comparable with them except in area. The bases
of most of these ranges are from ten to sixty miles across. The
lowlands from which these mountains rise are from five to six thousand
feet above sea-level, and the mountain-summits are from eleven
thousand to thirteen thousand feet above the tides. In the entire
mountain area of the State there are more than fifty peaks that are
upward of fourteen thousand feet in height. Some of these mountains
are rounded, undulating, or table-topped, but for the most part the
higher slopes and culminating summits are broken and angular.
Altogether, the Rocky Mountain area in Colorado presents a delightful
diversity of parks, peaks, forests, lakes, streams, cañons, slopes,
crags, and glades.
On all of the higher summits are records of the ice age. In many
places glaciated rocks still retain the polish given them by the Ice
King. Such rocks, as well as gigantic moraines in an excellent state
of preservation, extend from altitudes of twelve or thirteen thousand
feet down to eight thousand, and in places as low as seven thousand
feet. Some of the moraines are but enormous embankments a few hundred
feet high and a mile or so in length. Many of these are so raw, bold,
and bare, they look as if they had been completed or uncovered within
the last year. Most of these moraines, however, especially those below
timber-line, are well forested. No one knows just how old they are,
but, geologically speaking, they are new, and in all probability were
made during the last great ice epoch, or since that time. Among the
impressive records of the ages that are carried by these mountains,
those made by the Ice King probably stand first in appealing
strangely and strongly to the imagination.
All the Rocky Mountain lakes are glacier lakes. There are more than a
thousand of these. The basins of the majority of them were excavated
by ice from solid rock. Only a few of them have more than forty acres
of area, and, with the exception of a very small number, they are
situated well up on the shoulders of the mountains and between the
altitudes of eleven thousand and twelve thousand feet. The lower and
middle slopes of the Rockies are without lakes.
The lower third of the mountains, that is, the foothill section, is
only tree-dotted. But the middle portion, that part which lies between
the altitudes of eight thousand and eleven thousand feet, is covered
by a heavy forest in which lodge-pole pine, Engelmann spruce, and
Douglas spruce predominate. Fire has made ruinous inroads into the
primeval forest which grew here.
A large portion of the summit-slopes of the mountains is made up of
almost barren rock, in old moraines, glaciated slopes, or broken
crags, granite predominating. These rocks are well tinted with
lichen, but they present a barren appearance. In places above the
altitude of eleven thousand feet the mountains are covered with a
profuse array of alpine vegetation. This is especially true of the
wet meadows or soil-covered sections that are continually watered by
melting snows.
In the neighborhood of a snowdrift, at an altitude of twelve thousand
feet, I one day gathered in a small area one hundred and forty-two
varieties of plants. Areas of "eternal snows," though numerous, are
small, and with few exceptions, above twelve thousand feet. Here and
there above timber-line are many small areas of moorland, which, both
in appearance and in vegetation, seem to belong in the tundras of
Siberia.
While these mountains carry nearly one hundred varieties of trees and
shrubs, the more abundant kinds of trees number less than a score.
These are scattered over the mountains between the altitudes of six
thousand and twelve thousand feet, while, charming and enlivening the
entire mountain-section, are more than a thousand varieties of wild
flowers.
Bird-life is abundant on the Rockies. No State east of the Mississippi
can show as great a variety as Colorado. Many species of birds well
known in the East are found there, though, generally, they are in some
way slightly modified. Most Rocky Mountain birds sound their notes a
trifle more loudly than their Eastern relatives. Some of them are a
little larger, and many of them have their colors slightly
intensified.
Many of the larger animals thrive on the slopes of the Rockies. Deer
are frequently seen. Bobcats, mountain lions, and foxes leave many
records. In September bears find the choke-cherry bushes and, standing
on their hind legs, feed eagerly on the cherries, leaves, and
good-sized sections of the twigs. The ground-hog apparently manages to
live well, for he seems always fat. There is that wise little fellow
the coyote. He probably knows more than he is given credit for
knowing, and I am glad to say for him that I believe he does man more
good than harm. He is a great destroyer of meadow mice. He digs out
gophers. Sometimes his meal is made upon rabbits or grasshoppers,
and I have seen him feeding upon wild plums.
There are hundreds of ruins of the beaver's engineering works.
Countless dams and fillings he has made. On the upper St. Vrain he
still maintains his picturesque rustic home. Most of the present
beaver homes are in high, secluded places, some of them at an altitude
of eleven thousand feet. In midsummer, near most beaver homes one
finds columbines, fringed blue gentians, orchids, and lupines
blooming, while many of the ponds are green and yellow with
pond-lilies.
[Illustration: ESTES PARK AND THE BIG THOMPSON RIVER FROM THE TOP
OF MT. OLYMPUS]
During years of rambling I have visited and enjoyed all the celebrated
parks of the Rockies, but one, which shall be nameless, is to me the
loveliest of them all. The first view of it never fails to arouse the
dullest traveler. From the entrance one looks down upon an irregular
depression, several miles in length, a small undulating and beautiful
mountain valley, framed in peaks with purple forested sides and
bristling snowy grandeur. This valley is delightfully open, and
has a picturesque sprinkling of pines over it, together with a few
well-placed cliffs and crags. Its swift, clear, and winding brooks are
fringed with birch and willow. A river crosses it with many a slow
and splendid fold of silver.
Not only is the park enchanting from the distance, but every one of
its lakes and meadows, forests and wild gardens, has a charm and a
grandeur of its own. There are lakes of many kinds. One named for the
painter, now dead, who many times sketched and dreamed on its shores,
is a beautiful ellipse; and its entire edge carries a purple shadow
matting of the crowding forest. Its placid surface reflects peak and
snow, cloud and sky, and mingling with these are the green and gold of
pond-lily glory. Another lake is stowed away in an utterly wild place.
It is in a rent between three granite peaks. Three thousand feet of
precipice bristle above it. Its shores are strewn with wreckage from
the cliffs and crags above, and this is here and there cemented
together with winter's drifted snow. Miniature icebergs float upon its
surface. Around it are mossy spaces, beds of sedge, and scattered
alpine flowers, which soften a little the fierce aspect of this
impressive scene.
On the western margin of the park is a third lake. This lake and its
surroundings are of the highest alpine order. Snow-line and tree-line
are just above it. Several broken and snowy peaks look down into it,
and splendid spruces spire about its shores. Down to it from the
heights and snows above come waters leaping in white glory. It is the
centre of a scene of wild grandeur that stirs in one strange depths of
elemental feeling and wonderment. Up between the domes of one of the
mountains is Gem Lake. It is only a little crystal pool set in ruddy
granite with a few evergreens adorning its rocky shore. So far as I
know, it is the smallest area of water in the world that bears the
name of lake; and it is also one of the rarest gems of the lakelet
world.
The tree-distribution is most pleasing, and the groves and forests are
a delight. Aged Western yellow pines are sprinkled over the open areas
of the park. They have genuine character, marked individuality. Stocky
and strong-limbed, their golden-brown bark broken into deep fissures
and plateaus, scarred with storm and fire, they make one think and
dream more than any other tree on the Rockies. By the brooks the clean
and childlike aspens mingle with the willow and the alder or the
handsome silver spruce. Some slopes are spread with the green fleece
of massed young lodge-pole pines, and here and there are groves of
Douglas spruce, far from their better home "where rolls the Oregon."
The splendid and spiry Engelmann spruces climb the stern slopes eleven
thousand feet above the ocean, where weird timber-line with its
dwarfed and distorted trees shows the incessant line of battle between
the woods and the weather.
Every season nearly one thousand varieties of beautiful wild flowers
come to perfume the air and open their "bannered bosoms to the sun."
Many of these are of brightest color. They crowd the streams, wave on
the hills, shine in the woodland vistas, and color the snow-edge.
Daisies, orchids, tiger lilies, fringed gentians, wild red roses,
mariposas, Rocky Mountain columbines, harebells, and forget-me-nots
adorn every space and nook.
While only a few birds stay in the park the year round, there are
scores of summer visitors who come here to bring up the babies, and
to enliven the air with song. Eagles soar the blue, and ptarmigan,
pipits, and sparrows live on the alpine moorlands. Thrushes fill the
forest aisles with melody, and by the brooks the ever-joyful
water-ouzel mingles its music with the song of ever-hurrying,
ever-flowing waters. Among the many common birds are owls,
meadowlarks, robins, wrens, magpies, bluebirds, chickadees,
nuthatches, and several members of the useful woodpecker family,
together with the white-throated sparrow and the willow thrush.
Speckled and rainbow trout dart in the streams. Mountain sheep climb
and pose on the crags; bear, deer, and mountain lions are still
occasionally seen prowling the woods or hurrying across the meadows.
The wise coyote is also seen darting under cover, and is frequently
heard during the night. Here among the evergreens is found that small
and audacious bit of intensely interesting and animated life, the
Douglas squirrel, and also one of the dearest of all small animals,
the merry chipmunk. Along the brooks are a few small beaver colonies,
a straggling remnant of a once numerous population. It is to be hoped
that this picturesque and useful race will be allowed to extend its
domain.