THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 99 
When I arrived, howveer, Bob was there and had got the bear, and, 
believe me, I was glad to see Trailor for I was always uneasy when he 
was away over night with a bear treed. The bear was a big black 
fellow and was literally riddled with bullets. 
After supper Bob told me all about it. He went down the Fish 
Lake trail and followed it for several miles; then turned to the right 
and passed Fish Lake, then went on west around the side of Mt. Pitt 
and kept getting higher up until finally he came to a deep canyon. 
Here he listened for a long time and, hearing nothing, concluded to 
cross the canyon and get up on top of the ridge on the other side. He 
had a terrible time getting his horse down and across the canyon, 
which was full of brush and logs, but at last he made it, and when he 
struck the hill on the other side it was better going and he soon 
reached the top of the ridge. To his great relief and delight he heard 
the dogs barking steadily down below him and not over half a mile. He 
led his horse down the ridge for several hundred yards, then tied him 
and went on to the tree afoot. Now is when he got in too big a hurry, 
for if there is ever a time you want to use caution it is going to a tree 
Mr. Bear is up, for he will come down sure as fate if there were forty 
dogs at the foot of the tree. This is especially so after they have been 
up a tree a long time. Now that is what Bob did, made too much noise, 
and down he came. The fight was on, and a royal battle it was, as he 
was up against two of the best bear dogs that ever looked up a tree. 
Bob ran as fast as he could to get there, and when he got in sight he 
said they were making it hot for him. First Trailor would grab him 
by the ham, and as he swung around to strike, Trailor would let go 
and get back out of the way and Ranger would get him. They did not 
know Bob was there until his gun cracked, and then Bob said it was 
wonderful to see them handle him without either dog getting hurt. 
They just literally made it so hot for him and kept him going so fast 
back and forth that Bob couldn’t get in a dead shot, but he kept fol- 
lowing up and every half a chance he would shoot. They kept working 
down the hill and at last Bob got a bullet through his heart and the 
victory was won. Bob said it was impossible to describe this fight, that 
it had to be seen to be appreciated. For two dogs to handle a bear so 
that he couldn’t even run down hill was simply wonderful. Bob said 
then, and I believe he will say so now, that Trailor was undoubtedly the 
best all-around bear dog in the world. For my part, I always did 
think that he was perfect. When we skinned the bear there were 
fourteen bullet holes in him, and when Bob came to examine his gun 
the last cartridge was gone. But as good luck would have it, he had a 
few in his pocket, which was lucky, for as he came back just before 
he got to the Fish Lake trail, out jumped two big bucks, and after 
running a short distance stopped to look back. This settled their fate. 
Bang went the .44 and down went one of them with a broken neck. As 
the other started to run the lever went down and up and another bullet 
went flying after him, which caught him in the flank and, ranging for- 
ward, passed through the heart, and after running a few yards he went 
down. 
We now had about all we could get away with, and the balance 
of two days was spent in getting our meat in shape to pack out, which 
was done in due time. When we got to the wagon we laid down one 
more day and went out hunting and killed two more deer. The dogs 
treed a brown bear and after a short chase. He was a small one, but 
eame down the tree in spite of all I could do, for some cause or other. 
Ranger seized him by the head and Trailor by the ham and he went 
