XXV111 



RECREATION. 



A MOUNTAIN LION HUNT IN A 

 SNOWSTORM. 



Three miles Southward from my home 

 is Summit lake. It lies at the foot of 

 the Black hills, and is a great summer re- 

 sort for lovers of trout fishing and beauti- 

 ful scenery. Around it was once a hunter's 

 paradise, and there are yet a good many 

 bears, deer and cats ; while often a lion 

 comes down from the hills for a trip 

 around the lake in quest of deer. 



In the winter of '89 I had been out in the 

 hills hunting bear trees. Several inches of 

 snow lay on the ground and more was in 

 prospect. I had hunted for a bear tree 

 all day, but failed to find one. My dogs, Don, 

 Sport and Little Boy, were with me. I had 

 turned my steps homeward when, on a log 

 on the side hill, I discovered big lion tracks. 

 They were fresh, and the dogs were go- 

 ing up hill with heads in the air. I fol- 

 lowed rapidly to stop them, .as I had on 

 several occasions lain out all night, wet and 

 cold, while the dogs chased a lion from tree 

 to tree. 



I caught the dogs at the top of the hill 

 and I noted that the lion was heading for 

 what was known as the falls. I had come 

 through that country in the morning and 

 had jumped a small band of deer there. 

 I knew the lion would stop in that neigh- 

 borhood till he got a deer. As it was get- 

 ting dark I traveled for home. Snow fell 

 steadily all that night, and the next morning 

 it was a foot deep. However, it was good 

 traveling, for the snow was as light as 

 feathers. 



After a hasty breakfast, I took the dogs 

 and struck out. I had 4 dogs that morning, 

 Sport, Don, Little Boy and Nancy. Sport 

 was one of my white fox hounds that had a 

 record of treeing 8 bears in one week. Don 

 was his side partner in treeing anything 

 that wore fur. Nancy was a half breed 

 bird and hound, a great starter, but a poor 

 stayer. Little Boy was a pup 6 months old, 

 but a grittier pup never lived. He was a 

 white, full bred fox hound. 



On my way out I was joined by a neigh- 

 bor's son, E. B. Taylor, and we had gone a 

 mile when the dogs started a cat and treed 

 him in short order. A bullet from Taylor's 

 rifle settled him. We arrived at the neigh- 

 borhood of the falls and circled the country 

 over for several miles, but failed to strike 

 the lion's trail. We were standing on a 

 log debating the question where he could 

 be, when suddenly a long, deep, mournful 

 bay broke On the still air, and I turned to 

 look for the dogs. Sport was missing. 

 Again that deep, bell-like note. The other 

 dogs rushed down the hillside in a whirl- 

 wind of flying snow. I turned to Taylor 

 and said, "We've got him now." Presently 

 old Don's fog-horn chimed in with the 

 yelps of Nancy and the howls of Little 

 Boy. I followed the dogs a mile, when 

 I heard them baying the lion. I ran to them, 

 but the game fled, with Little Boy grabbing 

 at his tail. The lion headed for the big 

 hills North of the lake, and the dogs were 



soon out of hearing. I traveled on their 

 trail a mile and a half, losing Taylor from 

 the start. 



I had stopped to listen for the dogs, when 

 I heard them coming on the back track, 

 Sport giving tongue like a fire alarm and 

 the others keeping up their end of the noise. 



Suddenly the lion came into view. He 

 was a big fellow, his tail erect and swollen 

 like an angry house cat's. He was far 

 away, but coming straight to me on his back 

 trail. He would make 2 or 3 big leaps, 

 stop to listen to the dogs, then trot along 

 again. It was the sight of a lifetime to see 

 him leaping over the logs and small brush. 

 He came straight toward me, till within 15 

 yards, then jumped on a log and snuffed the 

 air in my direction. He still carried his 

 banner up, but the end of it was twisting 

 like an angry snake. 



Holding for his shoulder I cut loose. He 

 made a tremendous spring 20 feet into a fir 

 thicket. I ran to where he had jumped to 

 give him a finishing shot before the dogs 

 could get there ; otherwise there would be 

 trouble. I took his trail as fast as I could 

 travel, but Sport passed me, yelling with 

 rage, and plunged into a thicket. There 

 were a few squeals and grunts, and, run- 

 ning in, I found Sport and the lion having 

 a great scrap. Before I could shoot, Little 

 Boy and Don took a hand. The lion saw 

 me and tried to get away. He jumped, 

 and cleared himself of all but Little Boy. 

 That pup just shut his eyes and held on. I 

 gave the lion a shot in the head and he 

 gave up the ghost. 



Thus ended one of the grandest chases 

 after a lion that I ever took part in. At 

 times it looked as if he would escape both 

 dogs and guns. He treed 4 times in the 5 

 hour chase, but would jump as the dogs 

 came up. Taylor arriving, we dressed the 

 victim. We estimated his weight at 160 

 pounds. His length was 7 feet 9 inches 

 from tip to tip. 



Two of the dogs in this chase met death 

 afterward in strange forms. Sport broke 

 his neck in the kennel by jumping from a 

 platform. Little Boy was killed by a bear's 

 falling on him from a tree and crushing 

 him. The bear was shot dead and fell 

 sq^.rely on the dog. If there is a Happy 

 Land for good dogs Sport and Little Boy 

 are there. 



Frank Mossman, Kamilche, Wash. 



Already many thousands of people are 

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