THE GRIZZLY I DID NOT KILL. 



C. M. COLEMAN. 



It was in the fall of 1899, in the Gal- 

 latin basin, Montana, near the foot of Old 

 Baldy mountain. I was a tenderfoot, with 

 a quenchless thirst for the blood of a 

 grizzly. My friends banked low on prob^ 

 abilities, but I still hoped. I had camped 

 and hunted six months in Montana and 

 Idaho, but no grizzly had fallen to my 

 rifle, and the hunt was almost over. 



Anceney had returned home. Levinski, 

 the boy Charley, and I were moving camp. 

 We stopped in a little park to repack the 

 horses, and missing some articles, sent 

 Charley back to find them. Becoming im- 

 patient over the delay, I called him loudly. 

 I received no answer, but heard distinctly 

 something crashing through the bushes in 

 the creek, and supposed it to be Charley 

 and his horse. I was vexed at his failure 

 to answer, and commented severely on it to 

 Levinski, who thought I had been deceived 

 by the wind. I knew better, but said noth- 

 ing, and we sat down to rest and wait. 



My rifle was on my saddle, and my 

 horse was grazing among the pack animals. 

 Levinski's rifle was also out of reach. 

 Hearing a further noise, I looked toward 

 the creek, and saw a large black animal 

 approaching us. I thought it was Charley's 

 horse, coming through the high bushes. 

 Levinski remarked at the same time that 

 Charley's horse was returning bare-backed. 

 This confirmed my impression, and I re- 

 sumed our talk. 



Suddenly Levinski threw himself back- 

 ward, and rolling over and over down the 

 hill, got up and ran, looking for his rifle. 

 Turning, I saw a grizzly, as big as a cow, 

 at the edsre of the bushes, within 50 feet, 

 rolling her shoulders, and snapping her 

 jaws ominously. I was utterly helpless, 

 having only a hunting knife, and she was 

 so close that I felt sure if I moved she 

 would rush. I believe she would have 

 charged in another instant, had her atten- 



tion not been directed from me to the 

 horses, which took alarm, and rushed 

 through the bushes with a great uproar. 



At that instant Levinski returned, but 

 had some trouble with his rifle, and when 

 he did shoot the bear was passing behind 

 some large trees, so he missed. At the 

 sound of the rifle a cub, which we had not 

 seen, ran back toward the creek, in an op- 

 posite direction from its mother. I rushed 

 for my rifle, but my wretched cayuse was 

 scared. Precious moments were lost in 

 calming him and getting my rifle from 

 the saddle, and though I ran my utmost, 

 and almost burst a lung climbing the 

 mountain, I never saw the bear again. The 

 dogs overtook her, but were driven back, 

 and she made good her escape. If I had 

 had my rifle in hand at first, I should 

 have had a splendid shot at the greatest 

 game animal in the world, at such close 

 range and under such favorable conditions 

 that I should certainly have killed her. 



Levinski had hunted bears -for a living 

 15 years, killing over 200 in that time, 

 many of them grizzles of the largest size, 

 and he declared that one to be the largest 

 he had ever seen ; also the second black 

 grizzly he had ever seen. She was within 

 100 yards of us when I called Charley, 

 and must have heard me ; yet she fearlessly 

 approached us, with our horses and dogs, 

 as if we had been a band of sheep. 



We were both furious. I hope the atten- 

 tion of the recording angel was fully en- 

 grossed in another quarter during the next 

 hour, and I can not yet recall the affair 

 without losing self-restraint. Having ex- 

 hausted our vocabularies, we remounted 

 and resumed our journey, the dogs and 

 horses seeming to share our gloom. Even 

 killing a fine bull elk a few days later 

 failed to cheer me. To this day I have not 

 killed a grizzly, and shall probably never 

 kill one. Sic transit gloria mundi! 



Briggs : They say those India Yogis can 

 keep their minds fixed on vacancy for 

 hours at a time. 



Griggs : That's nothing. I spent a whole 

 week recently reading the short Stories in 

 the magazines,— Life. 

 74 



