UP A TREE. 



J. A. LORING. 



Jasper House is about 250 miles 

 West of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. 

 For several months I had been in 

 that part of the Rocky mountains col- 

 lecting birds and animals for a promi- 

 nent American museum. One day, 

 after crossing the Athabasca river, I 

 left the pack train and with a half- 

 breed Cree Indian, struck into the 

 heavy timber for a short hunt. Neither 

 of us carried much ammunition, sel- 

 dom having more than a few shells in 

 our pockets when traveling along the 

 trail. 



We soon struck a well worn trail 

 made by Indian ponies left in the 

 neighborhood to summer. I carried 

 a Daly 3-barrel gun, and the half- 

 breed had a rifle. We rode over the 

 moss-covered trail in comparative 

 silence, at intervals conversing in low 

 whispers. Suddenly the breed, who 

 was ahead, turned in his saddle and 

 pointing to a large, dead balsam pop- 

 lar, exclaimed, 



"Bear! bear!" 



Looking in the direction, I saw, half 

 way up the tree, not more than 100 

 yards away, a large cinnamon bear; 

 or more properly speaking a black 

 bear in cinnamon pelage, while ahead 

 of her scrambled 2 cubs. Jumping 

 from our saddles we prepared for ac- 

 tion. The breed fired at the old bear, 

 which tumbled and struck the earth 

 with a thud, but owing to an inter- 

 vening rise of ground, she was hidden 

 from our view. He made after her, 

 but I called him back, fearing if she 

 charged they would meet on the top 

 of the, hillock and he would not have 

 time to shoot before she was upon 

 him. After a few seconds' pause, as 

 our game did not appear, we walked 

 to the top of the mound and discov- 

 ered that she had "flew the coop." 



The breed wanted to open up on the 

 2 cubs, which were then well in the 



351 



top of the tree. and still climbing, but 

 with our limited supply of ammuni- 

 tion, I was not anxious to use it on 

 animals that could be killed with clubs 

 as they descended, and then have their 

 mother appear and demand an 

 apology. 



We looked for the old bear, but she 

 did not show up, so in the interests of 

 science we killed the cubs, but not 

 until one had descended, curled Wing, 

 our dog, into a bush, and almost 

 scratched out both his eyes. Much to 

 our surprise the horses, which were 

 standing but a few feet away, did not 

 take fright, convincing us that they 

 were not afraid of bears. We tied the 

 cubs' feet together and boosted them 

 over the back of my horse, one cub 

 hanging on each side. 



When about to leave for camp, the 

 breed spied the old bear standing in a 

 thicket not more than 200 yards dis- 

 tant. His ammunition was exhausted, 

 while I had but one rifle shell and 2 

 buck shot cartridges left. As the rifle 

 was sighted for 100 yards, I did not 

 care to risk my last shot at an un- 

 certain distance, although the breed 

 was anxious I should fire, promising 

 that he would stand by me. I rested 

 the gun against a small sapling and 

 to encourage the bear to charge, 

 bawled as nearly like the cubs as pos- 

 sible. The imitation had the desired 

 effect ; she came for us on the run. 

 The breed shouted, 



"She's coming for us," and, to my 

 amazement started for his horse. I 

 reminded him of his promise, in forc- 

 ible language, and he returned. When 

 the bear was about 100 yards away, 

 and as I was about to fire, she turned 

 and circled almost around us, then 

 stopped and stood broadside on, offer- 

 ing a fine shoulder shot. Taking care- 

 ful aim I pressed the trigger, but there 

 was no response. The primer failed to 



