250 Life and Sport on the Pacific Slope 



served as a refuge for herders from the attacks of 

 grizzlies. One poor fellow spent two sleepless 

 nights in this tree, and on the following morning 

 he threw up his job. His employer asked for 

 reasons. 



"You hired me," retorted the man, "to herd 

 sheep ; but I 'm a liar if I ain't bin a herdin' 

 grizzlies." 



The vaqueros used to lasso them. Upon one of 

 our shooting expeditions, I just missed seeing this 

 done. Two men we knew, sighted a monster trot- 

 ting slowly across a piece of level ground. They 

 galloped up to him and roped him fore and aft ; 

 then one of the men slipped from his saddle and 

 emptied his revolver into the bear's head. We 

 examined the hide of this brute, the largest I have 

 ever seen. The foreman of the ranch swore that 

 he weighed eighteen hundred pounds; but this 

 sounds incredible. We marked particularly the 

 peculiar formation of the skull, the brow being set 

 at an angle so acute as to turn any bullet unless 

 it were fired from a balloon. For this reason old 

 grizzly hunters will warn the tyro not to shoot at 

 the head of a bear coming towards you. If you 

 have the pluck to wait for him, he will stop and 

 rear up ; then let him have it in the chest. A side 

 or flanking shot is the most certain. 



My first experience with bear is worth recording. 

 I was walking down a path, leading my horse, and 

 looking for deer. Suddenly my horse snorted, and, 

 lo ! four silver-tips (a cross between the grizzly 

 and the cinnamon) stood directly in my path. At 

 the same moment the horse tore the bridle from my 



