A BEAR IN CAMP. 



W. F. NICHOLS. 



Some 3 miles Northeast of Steamboat 

 Springs, Colo., there was, a few years ago, 

 a beautiful body of pine timber, a famous 

 resort for bear. In the spring of 1887 H. C. 

 Monson and I having a contract to fur- 

 nish the material and build a house in 

 Steamboat, took our camp outfit, axes and 

 guns, made our camp near a body of tim- 

 ber on a small tributary of Spring creek, 

 and went to work chopping logs. 



Our camp was within 8 or 10 feet of the 

 little stream. There was no bank on that 

 side, while on the opposite side was a per- 

 pendicular bank some 4 feet high, and then 

 running up at an angle of about 35 degrees 

 75 or 80 yards farther on. While sitting in 

 camp the first evening we saw, standing on 

 the opposite side of the creek, a big buck. 

 Monson seized his rifle and fired, strik- 

 ing the deer through the ^eart. In its dy- 

 ing struggles it rolled down the hill nearly 

 to the bank of our little stream, leaving 

 blood all the way. We dressed him and 

 hung the meat on a small tree between our 

 camp and the creek. 



The following morning Monson got out 

 before sunrise and went to the creek for a 

 cup of water. He had stooped down, 

 dipped up the water and begun to drink 

 when he heard a growl, and on looking up 

 saw on the bank above, looking down at 

 him. about 10 feet away, a large black bear. 

 It had found the bloody trail left by the 

 deer, had followed it down to the bank, 

 and was standing looking at the meat. 



About that time I heard a coughing, 

 strangling, choking sound out of which I 

 made out "A bear in camp !" I sprang up 

 like a jack in a box, and, although the air 

 was cold and a heavy frost was on the 

 ground I did not take time to dress, but 

 caught up my rifle, threw a cartridge into 

 the chamber and raised for a shot. By 

 that time the bear had got away some 40 



or 50 yards diagonally up fhe hill, and as 

 he was disappearing in the low Sarvis 

 bushes I fired. My bullet — a .40-60 — struck 

 him midway of the ham, passing through 

 and lodging in the ribs. 



Mr. Monson had all that time been in- 

 dustriously working at one of those de- 

 testable affairs, a canvas gun cover, in 

 which he had his gun carefully buckled up, 

 thereby losing a beautiful shot at about 50 

 feet. Having finally got his rifle out of the 

 poke we bounded across the creek and ran 

 to the top of the hill, but our game had 

 given us the dodge. He was, however, 

 killed a few days later by Mr. W. H. 

 Dever, of Steamboat. 



From the top of the hill we saw, about 

 200 yards to our left, a brown or hog bear 

 coming directly toward us. We kept quiet 

 until she came up within 75 yards of us, 

 when we both fired. Mr. Monson's bullet 

 hit her in the throat. Ranging back and 

 downward, it passed through the ham and 

 lodged under the skin, killing her in- 

 stantly. 



I drew Monson's attention to my airy 

 costume, and although our hunt had not 

 lasted more than 10 minutes I was thor- 

 oughly chilled. We adjourned to camp, 

 where I dressed, while Monson prepared 

 breakfast. After eating, we returned to 

 the bear, disemboweled it, and took the 

 trail of the big black fellow, which was 

 easily followed by the blood. 



We had gone about a mile when we came 

 on 2 more brown bears, and got 4 or 5 

 shots at 150 yards. Thinking we had 

 wounded one or both of them, we fol- 

 lowed them a mile or 2, through rocks and 

 fallen timber, when we lost the trail. Then 

 we went back to camp and to chopping 

 logs, disgusted with having killed but one 

 bear out of 4 shot at, and all from short to 

 mid-range. 



Mr. Goops — Wasn't there some kind of 

 a hitch about the wedding of Mr. Spoon- 

 eigh and Miss Mooney ? 



Mr. Whoop — No ; the groom did not 

 show up, so there wasn't any hitch at all. 

 — Baltimore American. 



