56 The Grizzly Bear 



and black bear, but the extractor had become worn, so 

 that it would not always draw the shell unless I put my 

 thumb on it and bore down. This worked satisfactorily 

 as long as I thought to do it, but there were times when 

 I forgot and then there was trouble. The cartridge then 

 had to be cut to pieces before it could be taken out, and it 

 required a pocket-knife and some labor to accomplish the 

 result. For a year or more I had been thinking of getting 

 another gun, but this one was so accurate that I clung to 

 it, and at last it got me into difficulties. 



I made a number of trips after grizzlies and I had 

 got sight of several, but they had always seen or heard 

 me first, and when I would see them they were just disap- 

 pearing over some ridge or into some jungle. So one 

 spring, having made up my mind to go after them and not 

 return until I had one, I started out in May with a few 

 pack-horses and went to the Bitter Root Mountains, which 

 form the dividing line between Montana and Idaho. 

 A friend went along with me to look after the horses, help 

 do the packing and, as he said, skin the bears. 



For nearly three months we cruised about this rugged 

 wilderness and enjoyed life to the utmost. We killed 

 plenty of black bears, but up to September had not bagged 

 a grizzly. We found an abundance of their tracks and 

 saw three bears, but they were so wild that we could not 

 get near enough to them for a shot, and twice, when it 

 seemed as if one could not possibly escape, it quietly 

 slipped out of sight at a point I had not calculated upon. 



We had, during this time, killed several deer for meat, 

 but though we had seen some elk and one or two moose, 

 we had not shot them since we could not care for so much 



