RECREATION. 
Volume XX, 
MAY, 1904 
Number 5. 
G. 0. SHIELDS (COQUINA), Editor and Manager 
A RACE. | Wir A GRIZZLY, 
M. C, H. 
The mention of Shot Gun valley in 
my old friend Rea’s story in a former 
number of RECREATION, calls vividly 
to mind an exciting chase I had in 
that section 20 years ago, while on a 
hunting and trapping trip early in 
the spring. My brother Frank and 
I were riding leisurely up the valley, 
with pack animals and a few loose 
horses following, when directly ahead 
we saw a huge bear some half mile 
distant. To stalk him was out of the 
question as the ground intervening 
was as level as a barn floor, with the 
new grass but a few inches above the 
ground. This fact did not bother us, 
for, as is well known by men familiar 
with Bruin and his habits, he is sel- 
dom on the lookout, doubtless know- 
ing he is not liable to be pounced on 
unaware by any of his neighbors who 
may be in quest of a square meal. His 
nose is all right; but as a light wind 
accompanied by a drizzling rain was 
in our favor, we hoped to ride within 
gun shot range before flushing him. 
Being armed with 44 caliber Ballard 
carbines, shooting distance meant not 
to exceed 150 yards. When still 400 
yards distant the huge brute paused in 
his search for ground moles and, ac- 
cidentally no doubt, glanced in our 
direction. Two mounts, 4 packs and 
a few loose horses meeting his gaze 
brought him at once in an upright po- 
sition. One square look was _ suffi- 
cient. Dropping on all fours he 
broke for the nearest hills like a 
frightened horse. 
Having been out of winter quarters 
long enough to work off his surplus 
33t 
fat, he led us a lively chase. I had 
the better horse, soon distanced Frank 
and rapidly gained on the big fellow, 
who in the meantime turned more to 
the right and took the water of Shot 
Gun river like a duck. We crossed 
the stream, 40 yards wide and about 
3 feet deep, with a rush and without 
my pulling rein. On reaching the 
farther bank we soon struck a higher 
bench, the rim of which was an ugly 
mass of large broken lava rock. That, 
too, was made without slowing down 
and then came the race in earnest 
across the wide, low bench, covered 
with scrub sage and buck brush. A 
mile farther and I was within 50 
yards and commenced slinging lead. 
My war horse, Old Sport, had, the 
fall before, packed me alongside of 
more than one buffalo and was ex- 
erting all his strength to add another 
to the string; but after 2 or 3 shots, 
none of which counted, and when 
within 30 steps, his imaginary buffalo 
stopped suddenly, faced about and 
raised up fully 8 feet high. Old 
Sport spiked, plowing up the mud 
with his feet and nearly landing me 
over his head, as I had dropped the 
reins and at that moment had raised 
the gun to my shoulder. Before I 
could catch sight the race was on 
again and more powder and lead were 
wasted. Old Grizzly repeated his 
tactics, bringing us to several sudden 
halts; but would not face the music 
long enough to give me a steady shot. 
As the chase had covered several 
miles, my horse began to show signs 
of weakening. His heaving sides were 
