A BEAR AND A PISTOL. 



A. M. POWELL. 



During one of the long days of July, 1900, 

 we were in latitude 63 and 64 North, on 

 a high rolling spur of the Alaskan range 

 Below us, about 5 miles away, was a beauti- 



another range of mountains to the Tanana 

 the Yukon and the far North seas. 



We descended and camped on the banks 

 of this river, and spent a week exploring 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY H R. MCNTIFIELD. 



FORT YUKON, ALASKA. 



ful lake, covering 2,000 or 3,000 acres; and 

 7 miles farther away could be seen 

 Coolkana lak \ which extended 1 5 miles be- 

 yond, to the Southward. A silvery thread 

 of water connected those lakes, and fol- 

 lowing it along the foot of the spur we 

 could plainly see that the source was in a 

 large glacier to our right. 



At that time of year that silvery thread 

 was a large river, and a mile below 

 the glacier it divided. Half its volume 

 went through the lakes mentioned, to Cop- 

 per river. The other branch turned 

 Westward some 5 miles, then abruptly 

 Northward, plunging into the heart of 

 the mountain range. 



That scene repaid us for the hardships 

 we had endured. It was a revelation 

 never before looked on by a white man. 

 One stream reached the Pacific by way of 

 Copper river; the other had apparently 

 drilled a pass back through the mountains, 

 and wound its course by way of the Ta- 

 nana and the mighty Yukon to Behring 

 sea. In other words, a salmon could as- 

 cend the Copper river through the rugged 

 coast range, up the Coolkana to this source, 

 and descend this West branch through 



this West branch, which proved to be the 

 East fork of the Delta river. 



On our return we camped near the out- 

 let of a beautiful lake. I had just picked 

 up my revolver to kill some ptarmagin 

 which were cackling near, when my com- 

 panion exclaimed , 



"Look at the bear!" A silvertip was 

 lumbering along the beach of the lake, 

 toward us, but on the other side of the out- 

 let. I took my camera and slipped down 

 to the edge of the water to get his picture. 

 The light was just right, the lake scene was 

 beautiful; the luxuriant grasses on the 

 shore, with a scattering of spruce trees for 

 a background, made this an opportunity 

 of my lifetime. I was disappointed; the 

 camera had been broken during the day's 

 travel and would not work. 



The bear was only about 40 steps away, 

 and I decided to kill him. From a hidden 

 position I gave him a mortal shot. With 

 a yell he sprang into the air, fell, rolled and 

 tumbled, biting the bullet hole, fighting 

 the ground, brush and rocks. Then he 

 darted into the brush, and by his fighting 

 and growling I could tell where he was. In 

 another moment he dashed out, and I sent 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY H. R. MONTIFIELD. 



HAULING LOGS IN SUMMER, FORT YUKON. 

 34i 



