THE BEAR STORY OUR VISITOR TOLD. 



E. L. KELLOGG. 



Far up toward the headwaters of the 

 Methow, in the rough country of the Cas- 

 cades, we made our camp. Our first week 

 of tramping over mountains and through 

 streams, had completely fagged us; so 

 when Sunday came we settled down in the 

 shade of the stunted firs to smoke and rest. 

 Being out of the range of settlement we 

 had not seen even a prospector. You can 

 imagine then our surprise at seeing a man 

 in greasy buckskins, coming over a ridge 

 to the West of us. Apparently he was 

 making for camp and as he drew near we 

 struggled to our feet to greet him. 



" Mornin', boys, havin' a good time? " 

 he inquired genially. " I heerd your shoot- 

 in' an' knowed somebody was campin' 

 down the canyon. I live 'bout 6 miles up 

 the Methow," he continued to explain. 

 " Been here 17 year, an' make it a point to 

 visit all comers in this section. My busi- 

 ness, did you ask? Huntin' and trappin'. 

 No I hain't got a pardner — only a wife." 



Subsequently he told us his name was 

 " Smoky " Tunnison, and his wife was a 

 squaw. 



Smoky tilted his dirty, wide-brimmed 

 hat to one side and ran his fingers through 

 his hair in a meditative way. 



" Hain't any licker in camp is thar? " he 

 asked presently. " You see I've been hav- 

 in' another tetch of ondigestion, for the last 

 week, and thar hain't a thing 'bout the 

 cabin what's good fer it." 



Half emptying a pint bottle of Western 

 whiskey, handed to him, he returned it with 

 a sigh and borrowing a pipeful of tobacco 

 settled down. 



" Got a couple of bar I see," he observed, 

 noting the skins of 2 black bears tacked to 

 near-by tree trunks. 



" Yes," replied Dick, " we killed them 

 on the burnt mountain, over there to the 

 Southwest." 



Smoky, in his shrewd, frontier way must 

 have noticed the please-don't-mention- 

 such-trifles manner in which Dick spoke, 

 and our efforts to keep down our pride at 

 our record, for he remarked dryly: 



" Bars is pleantiful hereabouts, but they 

 don't 'mount to nothin'. Thar's no more 

 fight in a black bar than in a jack rabbit. 

 I kill 'em for their hides, but it's most like 

 shootin' hogs. 



" Now the grizzly's the feller you wants 

 to look out fer. Them bars o' yourn re- 

 minds me of a experience I had with one, 

 onct. An' it was that experience," he 

 mused pensively, as he cast longing eyes 

 toward the bottle, " what made me a 

 chronic ondigestionist." s 



" Let us hear the story," said one of the 



boys, taking the hint and again passing the 

 bottle. 



" It happened back in the 6o's, when I 

 was a Mormon an' had a ranch of my own, 

 an' a few hed o' cattle, off to the East of 

 Salt Lake. Grizzlies was thick thereabouts 

 then. It were a reg'lar thing to see 'em in 

 droves of 4 to a dozen. I hunted 'em 

 some, along at first; but I only had an old 

 Missouri Yager; an' after bein' treed onct 

 or twict I kinder soured on the sport. 

 One day^ though, I bought an army muskit 

 — one o' them britch-loaders, where the 

 britch flops out to one side an' you push 

 in a catridge an' flop her back agin. It 

 shot a bullet the size of a robin's egg, an' 

 had a bay'nit. It were the bay'nit what give 

 me my idee on bar huntin', an' led to this 

 experience I'm tellin' of. 



" The first chance I got I went off to try 

 my idee on a grizzly — an' while I'm think- 

 in' of it let me advise you, boys, don't get 

 idees about huntin'. An idee will give you 

 as much trouble as a breachy mule. 



" Wal to get back to the story; I knowed 

 a canyon where bars was pleanty. Thar 

 was scatterin' bunches o' brush along the 

 sides an' bottom, whar the bars liked to 

 lay 'round an' loaf. I pushed up this can- 

 yon 'bout half a mile when I heerd a rust- 

 lin' in the brush an' out stepped Mr. .Griz- 

 zly, side on, less'n 3 rods away, a swingin' 

 his head from side to side, and sniffm' the 

 air. 



" I up an' fired an' hit him — not in the 

 shoulder as I had figgered on, but jist back 

 of the short ribs; an' I knowed I hadn't 

 stopped him. You see, I was used to usin' 

 my old Yager that's as gentle on the trig- 

 ger as ken be; so when I pulled the mus- 

 kit, that's as hard mouthed as a mule, she 

 swung way round to geeward, an' I missed. 



" Wal I knowed the bar was hit, from 

 the way he whined an' nipped his sides, an* 

 bein' curous to see him wilt when the can- 

 non ball finished its work I stood thar 

 a-gawpin' at his antics. By the time I 

 come to my senses enough to flop open the 

 britch an' begin reloadin', the bar was 

 a-comin' fer me red eyed, an' I had to 

 stand an' face 'im. 



" When he got 'bout 10 feet from me he 

 riz up an' come ahead, with his paws 

 reached out an' his mouth open. Then I 

 lunged, an' the bay'nit jabbed him full 

 length jest under his wishbone. An' thar's 

 where my idee got out of kilter. You see, 

 with a catridge in the gun and the bay'nit 

 in his breast I could have blowed Mr. 

 Grizzly hell-west in no time; but the 

 catridge wasn't thar, so I had to handle 

 him the best I could. 



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