BAITING A BEAR. 
WILLIAM J. LAMPTON. 
“T never was much of a hunter for ani- 
mals,”- said the retired prospector, “but I 
have hunted for more mines than would 
buy all the millionaires in America if they 
had panned out right; and I am here to 
say it is about as dangerous kind of hunt- 
ing as going after tigers with popguns, un- 
less a man knows his business mighty well. 
There’s danger of starvation, of freezing, 
of drowning, of falling over precipices, of 
running against wild animals and wilder 
men. It’s no bed of roses, this business of 
prospecting. Every prospector, who knows 
what’s what, carries a good supply of mor- 
phine, so if he happens to break his leg 
somewhere beyond civilization, or runs out 
of chuck and can’t get to a new supply, 
he can just swallow some dope and go to 
sleep for keeps. It’s easier than to lie flat 
on your back and let the wolves eat you. 
“I’ve had my share of experiences, and 
since you fellows have been telling bear 
stories, I'll tell you what happened to me 
in the "Rocky mountains. I had been nos- 
ing around where there were signs of met- 
al, and was alone, because I thought I 
was sure to find it and wanted an 
undivided interest in the find. I had a gun 
along, of course, but I was always care- 
less about guns, ‘and sometimes I'd get in- 
terested in my work and leave the gun 
standing against a tree while I went pok- 
ing around for signs. 
“One day I found something promising, 
and got out my pick and went on the chase 
for it. I hadn’t located it up to the time 
I ran into a grizzly bear that looked as big 
as an elephant. The weather was getting 
cold, and I thought the bears had retired 
for the winter, but I guess I was mistaken. 
Maybe this one had got caught out in the 
cold against his will. Anyway, there he 
was and there I was, and he looked as if 
he hadn’t had a meal of victuals since ber- 
ries were ripe. He made for me, and I 
went up the nearest tree, which wasn’t 
nearly so high as I would have wished; but 
a grizzly can’t climb, so I was safe enough 
for the time. If I’d had my gun I’d have 
had fun with that bear, but the blamed 
gun was around the hill, resting against 
a big stone, as harmless as a crowbar. 
“Tt was getting toward the shank of the 
evening, and I thought when night came 
on, the bear would trek for home, so I 
made myself as comfortable as circum- 
stances would permit and waited for my 
chance to go, too. But it didn’t come. 
The moon came out shortly after dark, 
and it was so light that I guess the bear 
189 
didn’t know what time it was. Whether 
he did or not, he staid at the foot of the 
tree watching me. At first he had ripped 
off the bark in wild attempts to get at me, 
but as time wore on, he wore out and set- 
tled down to a quiet life. In the mean- 
time I began to get cold, and then a good 
deal colder, but the bear, cuddled up in his 
fur down below, didn’t seem to be suffer- 
ing much. Finally I got so cold and so 
cramped and tired hanging on to a limb 
not so thick as my arm, that it was all I 
could do to hold on at all. Then I was 
real scared, and I tried to scare the bear. 
But he wouldn’t scare. He knew his busi- 
ness, and he was looking for fresh meat. 
At last it got to the point where I couldn’t 
hold any longer, and I began to say my 
prayers before letting go and dropping into 
the grizzly’s gizzard. At that moment I 
thdught of my morphine. I had a bag of 
things I always carried over my shoulder, 
and there was a ball of twine in it, and 
with this I proposed to tie myself to the 
tree and swallow the morphine. Then, 
when I went to sleep, I wouldn’t fall out. 
I didn’t want that measly bear to get my 
remains, though I don’t suppose he would 
have eaten much of me. 
“IT was winding off the twine when a 
great idea presented itself. If the morphine 
would put me away, why wouldn't it do 
as much for the bear? Possibly he could 
take more, but I had enough in my inside 
pocket to kill 40 men, and that ought 
to do for a bear, even as big as a grizzly. 
The thought put new life into me, and I 
braced up. I had some dried meat and 
other eatables in my little bag, and I had 
the morphine in my inside pocket. I got 
out the meat, a piece not bigger than my 
fist. I cut a hole in it and put in a few 5 
grain pellets of the sleepy stuff. I had 
more, but I thought I would try that much 
for a starter. Then I tied the loaded meat 
to the string and let it down before the 
bear’s nose. He was taking things easy at 
the time and the meat smelt good to him. 
Instead of getting mad and rising up to 
paw holes in the tree, he sniffed a minute 
st the meat, made a grab at it and down it 
went. I suppose I might have played fish 
with him, by pulling on the other end of 
the twine, but I wasn’t feeling that way. 
I let the twine go, and, after shaking his 
head and pawing at his face, he got the 
string down where the meat was. Then he 
lay down again, with a look up my way. 
as if to say, ‘When are you coming down?’ 
“IT could hang on a good deal better then, 
