In the summer of 1855, I accompanied a hunting and fishing party, high
up into the Cascade Mountains. Our route was along the Santiam River,
and we made our final camp, at the west end of a narrow prairie, that
stretched along for over a mile at the foot of the mountain ridge, on
the south side of the river--a short distance beyond, was the highest
table land, or dividing plateau of the mountains. The fishing was
excellent--the hunting--it being the month of August, was indifferent;
because the black-tailed buck at that season was lying in some sunny
spot on the mountain side near water and grass--hardening his horns.
My companions in wandering or climbing along the brush covered sides of
the mountains, had several times started a large buck who passed down
the sides of the mountains by, to him, a well known but secret trail,
and crossed the head of the narrow prairie, and then dashed through the
thick brush by an accustomed trail to the river below. The space between
this prairie and the river, was a succession of descending benches.
These benches had before this time been covered with a very thick growth
of fir. When this fir had reached the height of eight or ten feet, a
fire ran through, and killed nearly all of it, and another growth of fir
had sprung up, making the descent to the river an almost impassable
tangled mass. As we were out of venison, it was proposed that I take
two rifles and go to the head of this narrow prairie, while my
companions should go up on the mountain side, and by the making of a
great deal of noise, start this buck from his sylvan retreat, and when
he came down the mountain and crossed the upper end of the prairie, I
should improve the opportunity to kill him. The plan worked admirably.
He came through the thick brush on the mountain side, and dashed across
the prairie. When he was nearly opposite to me, I fired at him with my
own rifle, but struck him a little too far back. Before I could get the
second rifle in my hands, he was in the brush and out of sight. I
reloaded my own rifle, and went to the spot where he was when I fired,
and I found that he was shot through the lungs, because the blood came
out in sprays; and as it came out on both sides the bullet had
evidently, passed through him. I followed him up slowly, by crawling
through the brush--sometimes on my hands and knees, and at other times,
after the manner of a serpent. He stopped frequently. When he did, he
left a small pool of blood. My judgment was that the bullet struck him
while he was stretched out, and that the skin closed at time over the
mouth of the wound; and that he was bleeding internally--I concluded
that as soon as he attempted to go down a steep incline, the blood would
rush forward and smother him.
I approached a gully or deep ravine, which he must cross, and I
carefully kept a big ash tree, that stood on the rim of the gully,
between me and the gully. When I arrived at the tree I stealthily looked
down into the gully and saw the buck in a small open space, and also a
large cougar, standing along his back intently looking at him in the
face. I muffled the cock of my rifle, and soon sent a bullet through
the cougar's head. He fell beside the dead buck. Disregarding the safe
rule of the hunter, without loading my rifle, I slipped down the steep
incline and with the breech of my rifle I straightened out his tail, and
was just in the act of pacing to ascertain his length from the tip of
his tail to the end of the nose, for that is the hunter's rule for
determining the size. Just as I was in the act of doing this, a small
quantity of fine white bark fell on me and all around me, I looked up
and on a large limb of the ash tree, nearly directly over my head, I saw
a female cougar. Her hair was raised up, her back bowed, and her tail
rolling. She was crouched for a spring. I kept my eyes upon her, raised
my powder-horn to my mouth and pulled out the stopper with my
teeth--then felt for the muzzle of the gun and poured until I thought I
had powder enough, and soon after found that I did have plenty. I then
took a bullet out of my pouch and rammed it down without a
patch--dropped the ramrod to the ground and put a cap on the nipple.
Then I gently raised the gun towards her, and she showing a good deal of
agitation, drew herself up into a menacing attitude as prepared to
spring--but I quickly fired and she came from the limb seemingly leaping
as though she had not been struck at all. I jumped back a few feet, but
her nose brushed me as she was descending to the ground. She fell dead
at my feet. I had my hunting-knife in my hand ready to plunge it into
her if she moved--but the bullet had done its work effectually.
I have always been of the opinion that I shot her just as she was in the
act of making a leap upon me. I loaded my rifle and then crawled to the
top of the gully, and my companions soon joined me. I rehearsed my
adventure to them, and after so doing, one of them went for a pack-mule,
while the others sought out a passable route through the brush to the
prairie. The mule protested against his load, but blind-folding allayed
his fears.