138 Hunting the Grisly 



ver. Twice of late years it has been per- 

 formed in the neighborhood of my ranch. 

 In both instances the men were not hunters 

 out after game, but simply cowboys, riding 

 over the range in early morning in pursu- 

 ance of their ordinary duties among the cat- 

 tle. I knew both men and have worked with 

 them on the round-up. Like most cowboys 

 they carried 44-calibre Colt revolvers, and 

 were accustomed to and fairly expert in their 

 use, and they were mounted on ordinary cow- 

 ponies quick, wiry, plucky little beasts. In 

 one case the bear was seen from quite a dis- 

 tance, lounging across a broad tableland. 

 The cowboy, by taking advantage of a wind- 

 ing and rather shallow coulie, got quite close 

 to him. He then scrambled out of the coulie, 

 put spurs to his pony, and raced up to within 

 fifty yards of the astonished bear ere the lat- 

 ter quite understood what it was that was 

 running at him through the gray dawn. He 

 made no attempt at fight, but ran at top speed 

 toward a clump of brush not far off at the 

 head of a creek. Before he could reach it, 

 however, the galloping horseman was along- 

 side, and fired three shots into his broad back. 

 He did not turn, but ran on into the bushes 

 and then fell over and died. 



