TWO GRIZZLIES IN ONE DAY. 



C. H. BARKDULL. 



Our camp was by the side of a wild 

 mountain stream that drained a large lake 

 nestled among the snow-burdened, glacier- 

 ground peaks that form the watershed of 

 all the streams in Southeastern Alaska. We 

 were too far inland to be molested by the 

 coast Siwash Indians, and far enough from 

 the interior to be safe from the Stick 

 tribes. Game in that protected and favored 

 spot had never heard the crack of the 

 white man's rifle and had smelled little 

 smoke of the Indians' old smooth bores. 

 Many of the largest, wariest, and best edu- 

 cated grizzlies, brown and black bears, not 

 to mention the wolves and wolverines, had 

 sought that secluded valley as their home; 

 where they might roam undisturbed as in- 

 tended by nature and in harmony with their 

 keen instincts. The river supplied them for 

 several months of the year with the finest 

 salmon. The 20 different kinds of berries 

 and fruit that abound, and plenty of wild 

 cabbage, roots and nutritious grasses kept 

 them in the primest condition. The moun- 

 tains surrounding the valley were covered 

 with bands of mountain goats and sheep. 



Specialists are only content with the best 

 the world affords, therefore Jim Green- 

 slate and Sam Gowan, 2 scarred veterans 

 of the good old buffalo days, had searched 

 out this spot as the best field for big game 

 in all the world. Fate favored me so that 

 I was to share its favors with them. 



Breakfast over, guns came off the 

 racks, each fellow put up his lunch, care- 

 fully inspected his cartridges, 6-shooter, 

 hunting knife and belt, buckled on his pack 

 straps and we were off. Sam went up the 

 North fork of the river in the direction of 

 the glacier, Jim and I up the main river, 

 toward the lake. The newly fallen snow 

 cracked and crunched as we traveled and 

 we left a trail behind us that could be seen 

 a mile. 



After a while Jim stopped and pointed 

 to the side of the mountain. A fresh trail 

 about 3 feet wide wound across the foot 

 of a slide and down on the river bar ahead. 

 We hastened our steps and were soon on 

 the spot. The tracks showed 2 grizzlies, 

 one large and the other larger. 



"If we get them 2 fellers to-day we'll 

 make old Sam ashamed of himself," said 

 Jim. 



At that we struck the trail. Not another 

 word was spoken. We scanned every bar, 

 every open nook, every log and tree behind 

 which the bears had passed. We could see 

 the trail a long distance ahead. We fairly 

 ran, in that low, bending attitude a hunter 



always strikes when he is close to game 

 and expects a shot at any second. We 

 came to a big pile of driftwood and logs 

 and could see where the bears had climbed 

 over. As we neared the logs Jim struck 

 a match to get the direction of the wind. 

 It was in our favor. Carefully sneaking 

 up we peeked over, both hands gripping our 

 old rifles. We both looked on a mass of 

 bear tracks, bloody and mud-colored snow. 

 The bears had had their breakfast there 

 and the remains of half a dozen salmon 

 were scattered about. 



After looking close, we saw the trail 

 going on up the river. 



"They are not half an hour ahead of us. 

 We will get them in those deadfalls up 

 there. They are headed right for them." 



Again we struck the trail on a trot. The 

 first great deadfall was in sight. 



"She's down!" shouted Jim. "We've got 

 one of them, sure ! What ! Well, did you 

 ever?" 



The deadfall was torn to pieces. Great 

 logs scattered in every direction. Over 

 2,000 pounds had fallen on that old griz- 

 zly's shoulders but it didn't crush him. He 

 had backed out, and in doing so had torn 

 the trap to pieces. The bait was gone. 

 With the exception of the loss of a lot of 

 long, silky, silver-tipped hair the old fel- 

 low seemed none the worse for his ex- 

 perience and had continued his journey up 

 the river with his smaller partner, right in 

 the direction of the next bait, where we 

 had set a great 42-pound No. 6 Newhouse 

 steel trap supposed to catch and hold any 

 game animal on the American continent. 



We again hit the trail and as we neared 

 the trap a roar, mingled with crashing and 

 cracking of bushes and trees, greeted us. 

 The big brute had cleared off nearly a 

 quarter of an acre of brush and small trees 

 and had dragged the big log, weighing fully 

 400 pounds, over everything he had come 

 to until it fouled under and against 2 trees. 

 He saw us and charged full tilt, coming^ as 

 far as the trap and chain would let him, 

 then rising on his haunches and striking 

 the trap against the log with force sufficient 

 to pulverize it. 



Two 6-shooters speak at once ; he lunges 

 forward and falls in a great heap with a 

 shattered brain. 



"That's No. 1! Now for the big one. 

 That old fellow has smelt iron before and 

 he's going to give an account of himself." 



"He's not far from here, right now." 



We carefully inspected our shooting irons 

 and again hit the trail up the river. It 



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