BEARS THAT CLIMB. 



T. B. CRAPO. 



I have seen 2 bears climb trees- after 

 having been shot, which I have never heard 

 another hunter tell of. 



In the spring of '94 I was staying on 

 Rattlesnake ranch. It was beautiful and 

 warm. One day, when the other men were 

 all gone and I had tired of loafing around, 

 I decided to go out and kill a bear. 



It was not far to the canyon, and I soon 

 reached the head of Skidway hollow. 

 Circling the hill on the Western side of the 

 canyon, crossing several coolies and final- 

 ly abandoning hope, I was well on my way 

 down the canyon again, homeward bound, 

 and going like a scared steamboat, when 

 I came out suddenly within 40 yards of a 

 bear, feeding on the hillside. 



I stopped as if I'd been kicked, leveled 

 my 40-82 on his ribs, and let go. He 

 wheeled like a weathercock in a blow, and 

 bawled like a dying calf, then shot up a 

 tree. He climbed 10 feet, then hung. I 

 fired again, and he fell. 



I had killed a bear. Too impatient to 

 stay to skin him, I only disemboweled him, 

 and, leaving him on a snow bank, hurried 

 on to tell the boys. 



My victim was only a yearling black, all 

 head and legs; but he was a bear, and 

 would do to show, and I was as proud as 

 a peacock. As I trudged back to the ranch 

 I carried on all sorts of conversation with 

 the boys, and fancied all sorts of airs of 

 superiority, planned an indifferent manner, 

 as though killing a bear was a mere or- 

 dinary occurrence. 



Five hundred yards nearer home I came 

 on another, on the opposite slope, com- 



ing toward me. He was perhaps 500 yards 

 distant, and didn't see me. Hiding behind 

 a jack pine, I waited for him, wondering if 

 he could hear my heart thumps at that dis- 

 tance. He looked as big as a cow. How- 

 ever, it was only a black bear, and I wasn't 

 afraid of any black bear ! Not I ! At 250 

 paces he turned to enter an aspen thicket. 

 I hallooed to attract his attention, expect- 

 ing him to stop at call long enough for me 

 to shoot. I must have yelled loud enough 

 to be heard in South Africa, for the yawp 

 came back, intensified and magnified, re- 

 peated again and again, from every cliff 

 and crag, from every rock and hill in the 

 Rocky mountains, dying away in distant 

 thunders. 



The bear stopped at this surprising con- 

 cert, and I improved the opportunity to put 

 in a shot. Again the echoes thundered as 

 if a dozen Gatlings were working. At the 

 report, Ephraim jumped straight into the 

 air, drawing his feet up against his body, 

 and letting out a yell to beat a Comanche. 

 He lit running, and I shot on and on, till 

 my magazine was exhausted. I shot him 

 in the foot and in the pants. 



Hurrying forward, I intercepted him as 

 he turned a rocky point, and put a shot 

 into his shoulder. He sprang into a tree 

 and out on a limb 10 feet high. There I 

 put another bullet into the other shoulder 

 and he came down — dead. 



The boys would not believe my story 

 when I got home, but next morning I 

 proved it by getting them to help me skin. 

 We tried some steaks, but I could not eat 

 them. 



Lady — What is the matter with my hus- 

 band? 



Doctor — I can not be sure yet. Have you 

 noticed him doing anything unusual lately? 



"Let me see. Well, last evening, instead 

 of lighting his cigar the moment he left the 

 table, he walked into the library and put 

 on his smoking jacket, smoking cap and 

 slippers before beginning to smoke." 



"Hum! My, my!" 



"And, later, when he wrote a letter, he 

 wiped the pen on the penwiper." 



"Horrors! It's paresis!" — New York 

 Weekly. 



185 



