466 



RECREATION 



A BOY AND BEAR LORE. 



BY JAS. E. SAWYERS. 



Many wild fireside tales of bears and their 

 habits made me a timid boy, and in time 

 distrustful of mankind. The strange things 

 that older and wiser heads infused into my 

 fearful boyish mind about these animals lead 

 me to look upon them as the Creator's 

 crowning masterpiece. 



I listened with youthful confidence to many 

 ludicrous portrayals of ingenuous escapes 

 from their death-dealing claws and gnashing 

 teeth; and how one stroke of the powerful 

 paw would easily send a dog into the next 

 county as if shot from a catapult. In fact, it 

 was impressed upon me that all that saved 

 the human race from extermination by these 

 ferocious beasts were their ungainly forms 

 and slow, cumbrous movements. 



Awe stricken, I listened to accounts of bear 

 fights. How easy it was for a dog to rush up 

 behind the bulky mass of flesh and bones, 

 chaw a hind leg and then escape unharmed ! 

 Should the dog run downhill the bear would 

 gently place his head between his forepaws, 

 double over and roll hoop fashion after his 

 pursuers. The theory of bears- rolling faster 

 than they could run appealed to me as the 

 only redeeming quality of the animal about 

 which I had heard such reckless narrations. 



Old hunters convinced me that a bear's 

 usual mode of travel was to roll down hill, 

 over rocky bluffs and logs, and dropping 

 out of tall trees, striking on the ground 

 and bouncing like a rubber ball his amuse- 

 ment. 



Imagine a boy's conception of such an ani- 

 mal, when his knowledge was gained from 

 men who occasionally saw a bear and shot 

 it as conveniently as if it were a hog in a 

 pen. 



When I asked the wise ones concerning 

 these interesting animals I was frequently 

 met with a blank stare and told that I was 

 too young or green to be a zoologist. I was 

 accused of being a question point. The rem- 

 edy prescribed for my ailment was to read 

 the Bible. The story of Daniel in the Lion's 

 Den brought "words of promise and prophecy 

 to my imprisoned spirit," and furnished me 

 enough ideas to puncture every fabulous bear 

 story with the idea that the wicked stand in 

 slippery places. The psalmist might have 

 been a nimrod, too, at least he sang a true 

 sportsman's song, "I will lift mine eyes unto 

 the hills, whence cometh my help." The in- 

 formation found in the Good Book only 

 transformed me into a miraculous exclama- 

 tion point, and made me more dreaded than 

 ever. What a bleak howling wilderness a boy 

 makes for those around him? 



Carefully devised plans to divert my atten- 

 tion were of no avail. Even the little brook 

 where trout were anxiously fished out with a 



pin hook had its lessons. One day as I lay 

 on the roots of an old alder tree, fishing in 

 the familiar pool, odd-shaped footprints in 

 the sand attracted my attention. A real live 

 bear had walked along the stream. I followed 

 the brook and looked curiously at the big 

 tracks. The bear's tracks were made at regu* 

 lar intervals and indicated that he went about 

 his business in an ordinary way, and was as 

 sure-footed as any animal. 



The signs left by him were noticeable, even 

 to the novice. In some instances he had torn 

 great slabs of thick bark from off massive 

 fir logs. Rotten logs with big cavities in the 

 sides, made by chisel-like claws, indicating 

 that this forest highwayman appropriates 

 everything in his pathway. 



Bugs, worms, lizards, snails and young 

 budding tubers are relished alike by this child 

 of the mountain who makes his home in the 

 deep gloom of the shaded forest. 



A few days later a hungry bear visited the 

 sheep range and converted a member of the 

 flock to his use, carrying it up a steep moun- 

 tain and far back into the timbered solitudes, 

 where he could satisfy his hunger without 

 annoyance from man. I was ordered to stay 

 away from the scene of depredation. This 

 feat of mountain climbing by a bear loaded 

 with mutton furnished me enough ideas 

 about them to heap fiery coals of distress 

 upon the head of every man whom I heard 

 relate a dubious bear story. 



A council of war was called. The chiefs of 

 the neighborhood assembled in due time. 

 Not a single dog could be found for the sac- 

 rifice. So the neighborhood bear trap was 

 brought forth from the scrap pile. Nearly 

 every man in the assemblage had trapped 

 bear with the rusty old trap. The leader 

 shouldered the trap and led the throng of 

 bear hunters up the steep declivity. As they 

 toiled upward through the shrubbery the fel- 

 lows that had breath to spare grew eloquent 

 in rehearsing thrilling incidents of bear hunt- 

 ing. When the scene of the bear's feasting 

 was reached an exchange of ideas followed 

 and a plan was formed for alluring bruin into 

 the trap on his return. A few logs and poles 

 were rolled together and made into a "V"- 

 shaped device and f he bait placed well back 

 from the entrance, and the trap was set at 

 the mouth of the affair. 



To my brother and I was assigned the task 

 of visiting the trap each morning. The first 

 visit was made and many forebodings of fear 

 intimidated us, but nothing had disturbed the 

 bait. That morning the forest aisles seemed 

 like old dungeons to us and every twig like a 

 witch. Well I remember how gloomy that 

 bright April morning seemed. The sweet 

 song of the white-crowned sparrow, the clear 

 strain of the Western meadow lark, and the 

 hum of insect life, all seemed to say, "Clear 



